An Allegory On Man Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCD EEFG HHBBIIJJ KKHHLLMMNNKKKK KKOO KKPP AAQQ RRSS JJTTKKUUMMVVJJWWUUXX NNUUUU YYRRBB VVZZ UUPPUUA2HB2B2WWPPUUA thoughtful Being long and spare | A |
Our Race of Mortals call him Care | A |
Were Homer living well he knew | B |
What Name the Gods have call'd him too | B |
With fine Mechanick Genius wrought | C |
And lov'd to work tho' no one bought | D |
- | |
This Being by a Model bred | E |
In Jove's eternal sable Head | E |
Contriv'd a Shape impow'rd to breathe | F |
And be the Worldling here beneath | G |
- | |
The Man rose staring like a Stake | H |
Wond'ring to see himself awake | H |
Then look'd so wise before he knew | B |
The Bus'ness he was made to do | B |
That pleas'd to see with what a Grace | I |
He gravely shew'd his forward Face | I |
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high | J |
An Under something of the Sky | J |
- | |
But e'er he gave the mighty Nod | K |
Which ever binds a Poet's God | K |
For which his Curls Ambrosial shake | H |
And Mother Earth's oblig'd to quake | H |
He saw old Mother Earth arise | L |
She stood confess'd before his Eyes | L |
But not with what we read she wore | M |
A Castle for a Crown before | M |
Nor with long Streets and longer Roads | N |
Dangling behind her like Commodes | N |
As yet with Wreaths alone she drest | K |
And trail'd a Landskip painted Vest | K |
Then thrice she rais'd as Ovid said | K |
And thrice she bow'd her weighty Head | K |
- | |
Her Honours made Great Jove she cry'd | K |
This Thing was fashion'd from my Side | K |
His Hands his Heart his Head are mine | O |
Then what hast thou to call him thine | O |
- | |
Nay rather ask the Monarch said | K |
What boots his Hand his Heart his Head | K |
Were what I gave remov'd away | P |
Thy Part's an idle Shape of Clay | P |
- | |
Halves more than Halves cry'd honest Care | A |
Your Pleas wou'd make your Titles fair | A |
You claim the Body you the Soul | Q |
But I who join'd them claim the whole | Q |
- | |
Thus with the Gods Debate began | R |
On such a trivial Cause as Man | R |
And can Celestial Tempers rage | S |
Quoth Virgil in a later Age | S |
- | |
As thus they wrangled Time came by | J |
There's none that paint him such as I | J |
For what the Fabling Antients sung | T |
Makes Saturn old when Time was young | T |
As yet his Winters had not shed | K |
Their silver Honours on his Head | K |
He just had got his Pinions free | U |
From his old Sire Eternity | U |
A Serpent girdled round he wore | M |
The Tail within the Mouth before | M |
By which our Almanacks are clear | V |
That learned gypt meant the Year | V |
A Staff he carry'd where on high | J |
A Glass was fix'd to measure by | J |
As Amber Boxes made a Show | W |
For Heads of Canes an Age ago | W |
His Vest for Day and Night was py'd | U |
A bending Sickle arm'd his Side | U |
And Spring's new Months his Train adorn | X |
The other Seasons were unborn | X |
- | |
Known by the Gods as near he draws | N |
They make him Umpire of the Cause | N |
O'er a low Trunk his Arm he laid | U |
Where since his Hours a Dial made | U |
Then leaning heard the nice Debate | U |
And thus pronounc'd the Words of Fate | U |
- | |
Since Body from the Parent Earth | Y |
And Soul from Jove receiv'd a Birth | Y |
Return they where they first began | R |
But since their Union makes the Man | R |
'Till Jove and Earth shall part these two | B |
To Care who join'd them Man is due | B |
- | |
He said and sprung with swift Career | V |
To trace a Circle for the Year | V |
Where ever since the Seasons wheel | Z |
And tread on one another's Heel | Z |
- | |
'Tis well said Jove and for consent | U |
Thund'ring he shook the Firmament | U |
Our Umpire Time shall have his Way | P |
With Care I let the Creature stay | P |
Let Bus'ness vex him Av'rice blind | U |
Let Doubt and Knowledge rack his Mind | U |
Let Error act Opinion speak | A2 |
And Want afflict and Sickness break | H |
And Anger burn Dejection chill | B2 |
And Joy distract and Sorrow kill | B2 |
'Till arm'd by Care and taught to Mow | W |
Time draws the long destructive Blow | W |
And wasted Man whose quick decay | P |
Comes hurrying on before his Day | P |
Shall only find by this Decree | U |
The Soul flies sooner back to Me | U |
Thomas Parnell
(1)
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