Satyr I. A Letter To A Friend. On Poets. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AAAAAABCAADDAAEEFGDH HIJAAAAKKLLLAAAMMNNN AAOPQQKRRPPPPSSAAAAA AATTEEEUVUWXYY| Poets are bound by ye severest rules | A |
| the great ones must be mad ye little all are fools | A |
| thus wn I rime 'tis at my own expence | A |
| to please my friend I drop my claim to sence | A |
| but now ye greater sway wch custome bears | A |
| to forfeit souls in oaths or sence in verse | A |
| the using of an ill has so much power | B |
| stamp it a fashion its ill no more | C |
| since then ye humour so extremely reigns | A |
| that ye gay folly every brest unbends | A |
| let me beneath ye common shadow hide | D |
| the fault's not mine thats all ye worlds beside | D |
| say then if passion discontent or ease | A |
| sho'd e're your friend wth poetry possess | A |
| for these and want ye muses setters seeme | E |
| to draw in cullies to their loosing game | E |
| how may I know yepath I ought to tread | F |
| for 'tis in all mens natures to succeed | G |
| some one way more than any else beside | D |
| fancy the reigning planet of yer mind | H |
| guides poets like her they're unconfin'd | H |
| a bounded genius will attempt to prove | I |
| the stings of satyr ye flames of love | J |
| Jear folly virtue by example praise | A |
| move our passions or language raise | A |
| happy one way but one he'l scorn to chuse | A |
| so much or wilder hopes our parts abuse | A |
| Durfy more luckily employs his quill | K |
| weak as he is he knows his talent still | K |
| Wn C r taught how plays debaucht ye age | L |
| he left to V ke to defend the stage | L |
| in rufull ballad humbly pleas'd to rage | L |
| how great undisturb'd by censuring foes | A |
| might eithers fame beneath thier wreaths repose | A |
| had B l nere written verse nor C ve prose | A |
| B r in Epicks may be still inspir'd | M |
| by men of sence approv'd by all ye rest admir'd | M |
| let him of Williams thickned lawrells sing | N |
| while for himself from every page they spring | N |
| that shall crowne ye poet wch adorns ye King | N |
| but nere to tread in scandalls rougher ways | A |
| again depart ye peacefull realms of praise | A |
| we read his satyr his wit allow | O |
| we read own the blended malice too | P |
| but oft his muse shows an unpointed tooth | Q |
| Wn a just turn of verse don't raise ye illnaturd truth | Q |
| low puns for wit his lines do often fill | K |
| oft he rambles in too loose a stile | R |
| the biting satyr fights in closer file | R |
| laborious T te has many methods try'd | P |
| to know wt happy way he may succeed | P |
| A play or two employ'd his hopes at first | P |
| far from ye best a little from ye worst | P |
| then bits of foreign poets to or tongue | S |
| more happily he brought more sweetly sung | S |
| flush'd with success he rises up from hence | A |
| to rescue David at his own expence | A |
| so have I known some painters wn a face | A |
| in spight of all their touches wants to please | A |
| turn up its eys alter all its dress | A |
| the auction piece a flowing glory wears | A |
| where the syren fail'd ye saint appears | A |
| Now I who proudly authors thus arraign | T |
| am may be envious thought may be vain | T |
| but if my lines can gain one friends esteem | E |
| or my diversion be 'tis all my aim | E |
| I never bid perhaps nere shall for fame | E |
| Nay sho'd I find my censures too severe | U |
| Ide in my changing prove my temper fair | V |
| and see with joy an error disappear | U |
| let Dennis rules for writing well lay downe | W |
| believe wt he prescribes his play has done | X |
| a preface write to shew he dos not faile | Y |
| Till Hypers to himself ye fop reveale | Y |
Thomas Parnell
(1)
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