Ode To Rae Wilson Esq. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABBACCDEDDE FFGHGHIIIIJIJ KKLMMLNNCCOKOK IPIPQNNQIRIIRSTST OLUOUVUUVU LLUUUUU UIUILLIIPIP IUUI UUSUUW UBBU EUEUIIOSSO IEIEEXEX OOPYZA2P LOLOOIIOOUOU IPIPOOB2IIB2EOEO EA2EZEWWE C2E I ED2EED2D2XXSESE IOIOEEEE SESELLEE2E2 EEII

A WANDERER Wilson from my native landA
Remote O Rae from godliness and theeB
Where rolls between us the eternal seaB
Besides some furlongs of a foreign sandA
Beyond the broadest Scotch of London WallC
Beyond the loudest Saint that has a callC
Across the wavy waste between us stretch'dD
A friendly missive warns me of a strictureE
Wherein my likeness you have darkly etch'dD
And though I have not seen the shadow sketch'dD
Thus I remark prophetic on the pictureE
-
I guess the features in a line to paintF
Their moral ugliness I'm not a saintF
Not one of those self constituted saintsG
Quacks not physicians in the cure of soulsH
Censors who sniff out mortal taintsG
And call the devil over his own coalsH
Those pseudo Privy Councillors of GodI
Who write down judgments with a pen hard nibb'dI
Ushers of Beelzebub's Black RodI
Commending sinners not to ice thick ribb'dI
But endless flames to scorch them up like flaxJ
Yet sure of heav'n themselves as if they'd cribb'dI
Th' impression of St Peter's keys in waxJ
-
Of such a character no single traceK
Exists I know in my fictitious faceK
There wants a certain cast about the eyeL
A certain lifting of the nose's tipM
A certain curling of the nether lipM
In scorn of all that is beneath the skyL
In brief it is an aspect deleteriousN
A face decidedly not seriousN
A face profane that would not do at allC
To make a face at Exeter HallC
That Hall where bigots rant and cant and prayO
And laud each other face to faceK
Till ev'ry farthing candle rayO
Conceives itself a great gas light of graceK
-
Well be the graceless lineaments confestI
I do enjoy this bounteous beauteous earthP
And dote upon a jestI
'Within the limits of becoming mirth'P
No solemn sanctimonious face I pullQ
Nor think I'm pious when I'm only biliousN
Nor study in my sanctum superciliousN
To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a BullQ
I pray for grace repent each sinful actI
Peruse but underneath the rose my BibleR
And love my neighbour far too well in factI
To call and twit him with a godly tractI
That's turn'd by application to a libelR
My heart ferments not with the bigot's leavenS
All creeds I view with toleration thoroughT
And have a horror of regarding heavenS
As anybody's rotten boroughT
-
What else no part I take in party frayO
With troops from Billingsgate's slang whangingL
tartarsU
I fear no Pope and let great Ernest playO
At Fox and Goose with Foxs' MartyrsU
I own I laugh at over righteous menV
I own I shake my sides at rantersU
And treat sham Abr'am saints with wicked bantersU
I even own that there are times but thenV
It's when I've got my wine I say d cantersU
-
I've no ambition to enact the spyL
On fellow souls a Spiritual PryL
'Tis said that people ought to guard their nosesU
Who thrust them into matters none of theirsU
And tho' no delicacy discomposesU
Your Saint yet I consider faith and pray'rsU
Amongst the privatest of men's affairsU
-
I do not hash the Gospel in my booksU
And thus upon the public mind intrude itI
As if I thought like Otaheitan cooksU
No food was fit to eat till I had chewed itI
On Bible stilts I don't affect to stalkL
Nor lard with Scripture my familiar talkL
For man may pious texts repeatI
And yet religion have no inward seatI
'Tis not so plain as the old Hill of HowthP
A man has got his belly full of meatI
Because he talks with victuals in his mouthP
-
Mere verbiage it is not worth a carrotI
Why Socrates or Plato where's the oddsU
Once taught a jay to supplicate the GodsU
And made a Polly theist of a ParrotI
-
A mere professor spite of all his cant isU
Not a whit better than a MantisU
An insect of what clime I can't determineS
That lifts its paws most parson like and thenceU
By simple savages thro' sheer pretenceU
Is reckon'd quite a saint amongst the verminW
-
But where's the reverence or where the nousU
To ride on one's religion thro' the lobbyB
Whether a stalking horse or hobbyB
To show its pious paces to 'the house'U
-
I honestly confess that I would hinderE
The Scottish member's legislative rigsU
That spiritual PinderE
Who looks on erring souls as straying pigsU
That must be lash'd by law wherever foundI
And driv'n to church as to the parish poundI
I do confess without reserve or wheedleO
I view that grovelling idea as oneS
Worthy some parish clerk's ambitious sonS
A charity boy who longs to be a beadleO
-
On such a vital topic sure 'tis oddI
How much a man can differ from his neighbourE
One wishes worship freely giv'n to GodI
Another wants to make it statute labourE
The broad distinction in a line to drawE
As means to lead us to the skies aboveX
You say Sir Andrew and his love of lawE
And I the Saviour with his law of loveX
-
Spontaneously to God should tend the soulO
Like the magnetic needle to the PoleO
But what were that intrinsic virtue worthP
Suppose some fellow with more zeal thanY
knowledgeZ
Fresh from St Andrew's CollegeA2
Should nail the conscious needle to the northP
-
I do confess that I abhor and shrinkL
From schemes with a religious willy nillyO
That frown upon St Giles's sins but blinkL
The peccadilloes of all PiccadillyO
My soul revolts at such a bare hypocrisyO
And will not dare not fancy in accordI
The Lord of Hosts with an Exclusive LordI
Of this world's aristocracyO
It will not own a notion so unholyO
As thinking that the rich by easy tripsU
May go to heav'n whereas the poor and lowlyO
Must work their passage as they do in shipsU
-
One place there is beneath the burial sodI
Where all mankind are equalized by deathP
Another place there is the Fane of GodI
Where all are equal who draw living breathP
Juggle who will elsewhere with his own soulO
Playing the Judas with a temporal doleO
He who can come beneath that awful copeB2
In the dread presence of a Maker justI
Who metes to ev'ry pinch of human dustI
One even measure of immortal hopeB2
He who can stand within that holy doorE
With soul unbow'd by that pure spirit levelO
And frame unequal laws for rich and poorE
Might sit for Hell and represent the DevilO
-
Such are the solemn sentiments O RaeE
In your last Journey Work perchance you ravageA2
Seeming but in more courtly terms to sayE
I'm but a heedless creedless godless savageZ
A very Guy deserving fire and faggotsE
A Scoffer always on the grinW
And sadly given to the mortal sinW
Of liking Maw worms less than merry maggotsE
-
The humble records of my life to searchC2
I have not herded with mere pagan beastsE
But sometimes I have 'sat at good men's feasts '-
And I have been 'where bells have knoll'd toI
church '-
Dear bells how sweet the sounds of village bellsE
When on the undulating air they swimD2
Now loud as welcomes faint now as farewellsE
And trembling all about the breezy dellsE
As flutter'd by the wings of CherubimD2
Meanwhile the bees are chanting a low hymnD2
And lost to sight th' ecstatic lark aboveX
Sings like a soul beatified of loveX
With now and then the coo of the wild pigeonS
O Pagans Heathens Infidels and DoubtersE
If such sweet sounds can't woo you to religionS
Will the harsh voices of church cads and toutersE
-
A man may cry 'Church Church ' at ev'ry wordI
With no more piety than other peopleO
A daw's not reckon'd a religious birdI
Because it keeps a cawing from a steepleO
The Temple is a good a holy placeE
But quacking only gives it an ill savourE
While saintly mountebanks the porch disgraceE
And bring religion's self into disfavourE
-
Behold yon servitor of God and MammonS
Who binding up his Bible with his LedgerE
Blends Gospel texts with trading gammonS
A black leg saint a spiritual hedgerE
Who backs his rigid Sabbath so to speakL
Against the wicked remnant of the weekL
A saving bet against his sinful biasE
'Rogue that I am ' he whispers to himselfE2
'I lie I cheat do anything for pelfE2
But who on earth can say I am not pious '-
-
In proof how over righteousness re actsE
Accept an anecdote well based on factsE
One Sunday morning at the day don't fretI
In riding with a friend toI

Thomas Hood



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