Satyr V. Verse Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Thou soft Engager of my tender years	A
Divertive verse now come ease my cares	B
The Rake has wine the aged knave ye view	C
Of what his death bed Charity will do	C
to lay his cares mine are layd by you	C
You give my mind when I unbend relief	D
Raise ev'ry Joy lessen ev'ry grief	D
Nor do I onely these thy comforts find	E
thy comforts are diffusive to mankind	E
The men of sense of buisness or of whims	F
half witts or lovers ev'ry one sometimes	G
Will toy away a vacant hour in rimes	G
	-
they give all but lovers troubles ease	H
the Muses fires the flames of love encrease	H
Yet the fond fooles write more yn all ye rest	I
as if they studyd to be more unblest	I
of Moving things they speak in moving strains	H
moan beg a cure of all their pains	H
till at the last theyre workd to a belief	D
that what they said has been their reall grief	D
As strong as fate they call the chains they wear	J
To starrs Angells ev'ry nymph compare	J
Then think their chains as strong their nymphs as fair	J
thus our loves more more the womens pride	I
so the wounds deeper the cure denyd	I
Long may you gentle souls your fetters wear	J
if still you write upon ye pangs you bear	J
Yet know that writing makes them more severe	K
If Celia or Aminta scornfull grow	L
On the great praises which your lines bestow	L
Long may you feel them since you make ym so	L
	-
Verse is on other subjects less unkind	I
with its transports brightens up ye mind	I
the Drunkards catch is half the rogues delight	I
Where noise briskness do their charms unite	I
The drawers calld ink paper brought	I
so extempore the work is wrought	I
While wine inspires they never stay for thought	I
the Jolly words are roard in tunefull sound	I
While the full bottles run the tables round	I
Ecchoes from the Empty ones rebound	I
Raisd to the Joyes above the cares of kings	H
their singing makes ym drink their drinking sing	M
O happy men if twere not for the curse	H
of qualms repentance an empty purse	H
but happy men at least for some few hours	H
Who force the Muse to nothing else but rime	N
when your sense is drownd sing off yr time	N
	-
Verse has another powr on other men	O
When the vexd thoughts by writing grow serene	P
full of the spleen rage scorn to see	H
the tide of vice folly run so high	Q
some from the world retire to poetry	H
when their pens what grieves their bosoms speak	R
how honesty's a cully witt a rake	S
fair Virtue beggerd beauty grown a baud	I
Religion made a masque gold a God	I
their breasts find ease by laying down their load	I
so Prophetts usd inspird of old to swell	T
when they spoke their Oracles grew well	T
	-
For me who never have a drinker been	U
Nor provd the witty forces of the spleen	P
for me who be it chance or carelessness	H
forgive me half the world when I confess	H
have never been in love in all my dayes	H
On other principles my pen I take	S
for meer disintrested diversions sake	S
I onely write as many lovers woo	C
but just when I have nothing else to do	C
then to please my self as well as you	C
I seek no praise keep me safe from shame	N
Not known to many unknown to fame	N
I woud not blunty rail a folly down	V
Nor with undecent rage on vices run	W
Our master Horace wisely sung of old	I
that satyrs better if it Jear then scold	I
the Gall too much prevailing spoils the ink	X
Nor woul I frett mankind but make ym think	X
tis farr more human thus to show ye place	H
Where you ly open then throw in ye pass	H

Thomas Parnell

Satyr V. Verse Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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