Incantation. From The New Tragedy Of "the Brunswickers." Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AB C C D EEFFGG HH IIJJIIBBKKLLLBBMMLBN NBBAAOPQM II RPBBBBPPLLPPBBBSBBPP IIPPP| SCENE Penenden Plain In the middle a caldron boiling Thunder | A |
| Enter three Brunswickers | B |
| - | |
| st Bruns Thrice hath scribbling Kenyon scrawled | C |
| - | |
| d Bruns Once hath fool Newcastle bawled | C |
| - | |
| d Bruns Bexley snores 'tis time 'tis time | D |
| - | |
| st Bruns Round about the caldron go | E |
| In the poisonous nonsense throw | E |
| Bigot spite that long hath grown | F |
| Like a toad within a stone | F |
| Sweltering in the heart of Scott | G |
| Boil we in the Brunswick pot | G |
| - | |
| All Dribble dribble nonsense dribble | H |
| Eldon talk and Kenyon scribble | H |
| - | |
| d Bruns Slaver from Newcastle's quill | I |
| In the noisome mess distil | I |
| Brimming high our Brunswick broth | J |
| Both with venom and with froth | J |
| Mix the brains tho' apt to hash ill | I |
| Being scant of Lord Mountcashel | I |
| With that malty stuff which Chandos | B |
| Drivels as no other man does | B |
| Catch i e if catch you can | K |
| One idea spick and span | K |
| From my Lord of Salisbury | L |
| One idea tho' it be | L |
| Smaller than the happy flea | L |
| Which his sire in sonnet terse | B |
| Wedded to immortal verse | B |
| Tho' to rob the son is sin | M |
| Put his one idea in | M |
| And to keep it company | L |
| Let that conjuror Winchelsea | B |
| Drop but half another there | N |
| If he hath so much to spare | N |
| Dreams of murders and of arsons | B |
| Hatched in heads of Irish parsons | B |
| Bring from every hole and corner | A |
| Where ferocious priests like Horner | A |
| Purely for religious good | O |
| Cry aloud for Papist's blood | P |
| Blood for Wells and such old women | Q |
| At their ease to wade and swim in | M |
| - | |
| All Dribble dribble nonsense dribble | I |
| Bexley talk and Kenyon scribble | I |
| - | |
| d Bruns Now the charm begin to brew | R |
| Sisters sisters add thereto | P |
| Scraps of Lethbridge's old speeches | B |
| Mixt with leather from his breeches | B |
| Rinsings of old Bexley's brains | B |
| Thickened if you'll take the pains | B |
| With that pulp which rags create | P |
| In their middle nympha state | P |
| Ere like insects frail and sunny | L |
| Forth they wing abroad as money | L |
| There the Hell broth we've enchanted | P |
| Now but one thing more is wanted | P |
| Squeeze o'er all that Orange juice | B |
| Castlereagh keeps corkt for use | B |
| Which to work the better spell is | B |
| Colored deep with blood of | S |
| Blood of powers far more various | B |
| Even than that of Januarius | B |
| Since so great a charm hangs o'er it | P |
| England's parsons bow before it | P |
| All Dribble dribble nonsense dribble | I |
| Bexley talk and Kenyon scribble | I |
| d Bruns Cool it now with 's blood | P |
| So the charm is firm and good | P |
| exeunt | P |
Thomas Moore
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Incantation. From The New Tragedy Of "the Brunswickers." is a poem by Thomas Moore. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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