Thoughts On Mischief Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A B CD EEFFGHIIJJKK LLMMLLNNLL OOAAPPFFIIDDQQAR SSAATTUVUWWTTTT XYLLLLLZZA2A2TT JJ| BY LORD STANLEY | A |
| - | |
| HIS FIRST ATTEMPT IN VERSE | B |
| - | |
| - | |
| Evil be thou my good | C |
| MILTON | D |
| - | |
| - | |
| How various are the inspirations | E |
| Of different men in different nations | E |
| As genius prompts to good or evil | F |
| Some call the Muse some raise the devil | F |
| Old Socrates that pink of sages | G |
| Kept a pet demon on board wages | H |
| To go about with him incog | I |
| And sometimes give his wits a jog | I |
| So Lyndhurst in our day we know | J |
| Keeps fresh relays of imps below | J |
| To forward from that nameless spot | K |
| His inspirations hot and hot | K |
| - | |
| But neat as are old Lyndhurst's doings | L |
| Beyond even Hecate's hell broth brewings | L |
| Had I Lord Stanley but my will | M |
| I'd show you mischief prettier still | M |
| Mischief combining boyhood's tricks | L |
| With age's sourest politics | L |
| The urchin's freaks the veteran's gall | N |
| Both duly mixt and matchless all | N |
| A compound naught in history reaches | L |
| But Machiavel when first in breeches | L |
| - | |
| Yes Mischief Goddess multiform | O |
| Whene'er thou witch like ridest the storm | O |
| Let Stanley ride cockhorse behind thee | A |
| No livelier lackey could they find thee | A |
| And Goddess as I'm well aware | P |
| So mischief's done you care not where | P |
| I own 'twill most my fancy tickle | F |
| In Paddyland to play the Pickle | F |
| Having got credit for inventing | I |
| A new brisk method of tormenting | I |
| A way they call the Stanley fashion | D |
| Which puts all Ireland in a passion | D |
| So neat it hits the mixture due | Q |
| Of injury and insult too | Q |
| So legibly it bears upon't | A |
| The stamp of Stanley's brazen front | R |
| - | |
| Ireland we're told means the land of Ire | S |
| And why she's so none need inquire | S |
| Who sees her millions martial manly | A |
| Spat upon thus by me Lord Stanley | A |
| Already in the breeze I scent | T |
| The whiff of coming devilment | T |
| Of strife to me more stirring far | U |
| Than the Opium or the Sulphur war | V |
| Or any such drug ferments are | U |
| Yes sweeter to this Tory soul | W |
| Than all such pests from pole to pole | W |
| Is the rich sweltered venom got | T |
| By stirring Ireland's charmed pot | T |
| And thanks to practice on that land | T |
| I stir it with a master hand | T |
| - | |
| Again thou'lt see when forth have gone | X |
| The War Church cry On Stanley on | Y |
| How Caravats and Shanavests | L |
| Shall swarm from out their mountain nests | L |
| With all their merry moonlight brothers | L |
| To whom the Church step dame to others | L |
| Hath been the best of nursing mothers | L |
| Again o'er Erin's rich domain | Z |
| Shall Rockites and right reverends reign | Z |
| And both exempt from vulgar toil | A2 |
| Between them share that titheful soil | A2 |
| Puzzling ambition which to climb at | T |
| The post of Captain or of Primate | T |
| - | |
| And so long life to Church and Co | J |
| Hurrah for mischief here we go | J |
Thomas Moore
(1)
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