The Devil Among The Scholars, A Fragment Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDDAA EEFFAAAAGGAAHHIJKKLL MNOOAAPPGGAAAAIIAAAA AAQROOSSGTAACCIICCSS AASSSSTTAASSUU GGAAVVGGAAOO AATTIIAAIIOOAACCIITT II AAIIAAUUTTSSCCSSAAAA AAAAAA| But whither have these gentle ones | A |
| These rosy nymphs and black eyed nuns | A |
| With all of Cupid's wild romancing | B |
| Led by truant brains a dancing | B |
| Instead of studying tomes scholastic | C |
| Ecclesiastic or monastic | C |
| Off I fly careering far | D |
| In chase of Pollys prettier far | D |
| Than any of their namesakes are | D |
| The Polymaths and Polyhistors | A |
| Polyglots and all their sisters | A |
| - | |
| So have I known a hopeful youth | E |
| Sit down in quest of lore and truth | E |
| With tomes sufficient to confound him | F |
| Like Tohu Bohu heapt around him | F |
| Mamurra stuck to Theophrastus | A |
| And Galen tumbling o'er Bombastus | A |
| When lo while all that's learned and wise | A |
| Absorbs the boy he lifts his eyes | A |
| And through the window of his study | G |
| Beholds some damsel fair and ruddy | G |
| With eyes as brightly turned upon him as | A |
| The angel's were on Hieronymus | A |
| Quick fly the folios widely scattered | H |
| Old Homer's laureled brow is battered | H |
| And Sappho headlong sent flies just in | I |
| The reverend eye of St Augustin | J |
| Raptured he quits each dozing sage | K |
| Oh woman for thy lovelier page | K |
| Sweet book unlike the books of art | L |
| Whose errors are thy fairest part | L |
| In whom the dear errata column | M |
| Is the best page in all the volume | N |
| But to begin my subject rhyme | O |
| 'Twas just about this devilish time | O |
| When scarce there happened any frolics | A |
| That were not done by Diabolics | A |
| A cold and loveless son of Lucifer | P |
| Who woman scorned nor saw the use of her | P |
| A branch of Dagon's family | G |
| Which Dagon whether He or She | G |
| Is a dispute that vastly better is | A |
| Referred to Scaliger et coeteris | A |
| Finding that in this cage of fools | A |
| The wisest sots adorn the schools | A |
| Took it at once his head Satanic in | I |
| To grow a great scholastic manikin | I |
| A doctor quite as learned and fine as | A |
| Scotus John or Tom Aquinas | A |
| Lully Hales Irrefragabilis | A |
| Or any doctor of the rabble is | A |
| In languages the Polyglots | A |
| Compared to him were Babelsots | A |
| He chattered more than ever Jew did | Q |
| Sanhedrim and Priest included | R |
| Priest and holy Sanhedrim | O |
| Were one and seventy fools to him | O |
| But chief the learned demon felt a | S |
| Zeal so strong for gamma delta | S |
| That all for Greek and learning's glory | G |
| He nightly tippled Graeco more | T |
| And never paid a bill or balance | A |
| Except upon the Grecian Kalends | A |
| From whence your scholars when they want tick | C |
| Say to be Attic's to be on tick | C |
| In logics he was quite Ho Panu | I |
| Knew as much as ever man knew | I |
| He fought the combat syllogistic | C |
| With so much skill and art eristic | C |
| That though you were the learned Stagyrite | S |
| At once upon the hip he had you right | S |
| In music though he had no ears | A |
| Except for that amongst the spheres | A |
| Which most of all as he averred it | S |
| He dearly loved 'cause no one heard it | S |
| Yet aptly he at sight could read | S |
| Each tuneful diagram in Bede | S |
| And find by Euclid's corollaria | T |
| The ratios of a jig or aria | T |
| But as for all your warbling Delias | A |
| Orpheuses and Saint Cecilias | A |
| He owned he thought them much surpast | S |
| By that redoubted Hyaloclast | S |
| Who still contrived by dint of throttle | U |
| Where'er he went to crack a bottle | U |
| - | |
| Likewise to show his mighty knowledge he | G |
| On things unknown in physiology | G |
| Wrote many a chapter to divert us | A |
| Like that great little man Albertus | A |
| Wherein he showed the reason why | V |
| When children first are heard to cry | V |
| If boy the baby chance to be | G |
| He cries O A if girl O E | G |
| Which are quoth he exceeding fair hints | A |
| Respecting their first sinful parents | A |
| Oh Eve exclaimeth little madam | O |
| While little master cries Oh Adam | O |
| - | |
| But 'twas in Optics and Dioptrics | A |
| Our daemon played his first and top tricks | A |
| He held that sunshine passes quicker | T |
| Through wine than any other liquor | T |
| And though he saw no great objection | I |
| To steady light and clear reflection | I |
| He thought the aberrating rays | A |
| Which play about a bumper's blaze | A |
| Were by the Doctors looked in common on | I |
| As a more rare and rich phenomenon | I |
| He wisely said that the sensorium | O |
| Is for the eyes a great emporium | O |
| To which these noted picture stealers | A |
| Send all they can and meet with dealers | A |
| In many an optical proceeding | C |
| The brain he said showed great good breeding | C |
| For instance when we ogle women | I |
| A trick which Barbara tutored him in | I |
| Although the dears are apt to get in a | T |
| Strange position on the retina | T |
| Yet instantly the modest brain | I |
| Doth set them on their legs again | I |
| - | |
| Our doctor thus with stuft sufficiency | A |
| Of all omnigenous omnisciency | A |
| Began as who would not begin | I |
| That had like him so much within | I |
| To let it out in books of all sorts | A |
| Folios quartos large and small sorts | A |
| Poems so very deep and sensible | U |
| That they were quite incomprehensible | U |
| Prose which had been at learning's Fair | T |
| And bought up all the trumpery there | T |
| The tattered rags of every vest | S |
| In which the Greeks and Romans drest | S |
| And o'er her figure swollen and antic | C |
| Scattered them all with airs so frantic | C |
| That those who saw what fits she had | S |
| Declared unhappy Prose was mad | S |
| Epics he wrote and scores of rebuses | A |
| All as neat as old Turnebus's | A |
| Eggs and altars cyclopaedias | A |
| Grammars prayer books oh 'twere tedious | A |
| Did I but tell thee half to follow me | A |
| Not the scribbling bard of Ptolemy | A |
| No nor the hoary Trismegistus | A |
| Whose writings all thank heaven have missed us | A |
| E'er filled with lumber such a wareroom | A |
| As this great porcus literarum | A |
Thomas Moore
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