Analysis of Satyr V. Verse
Thomas Parnell 1679 (Dublin) – 1718
Thou soft Engager of my tender years
Divertive verse now come & ease my cares
The Rake has wine the aged knave ye view
Of what his death bed Charity will do
to lay his cares & mine are layd by you
You give my mind when I unbend relief
Raise ev'ry Joy & lessen ev'ry grief
Nor do I onely these thy comforts find
thy comforts are diffusive to mankind
The men of sense of buisness or of whims
half witts or lovers ev'ry one sometimes
Will toy away a vacant hour in rimes
& they give all but lovers troubles ease
the Muses fires the flames of love encrease
Yet the fond fooles write more yn all ye rest
as if they studyd to be more unblest
of Moving things they speak in moving strains
& moan & beg a cure of all their pains
till at the last theyre workd to a belief
that what they said has been their reall grief
As strong as fate they call the chains they wear
To starrs & Angells ev'ry nymph compare
Then think their chains as strong, their nymphs as fair
thus our loves more & more the womens pride
so the wounds deeper & the cure denyd
Long may you gentle souls your fetters wear
if still you write upon ye pangs you bear
Yet know that writing makes them more severe
If Celia or Aminta scornfull grow
On the great praises which your lines bestow
Long may you feel them since you make ym so
Verse is on other subjects less unkind
& with its transports brightens up ye mind
the Drunkards catch is half the rogues delight
Where noise & briskness do their charms unite
The drawers calld & ink & paper brought
& so extempore the work is wrought
While wine inspires they never stay for thought
the Jolly words are roard in tunefull sound
While the full bottles run the tables round
& Ecchoes from the Empty ones rebound
Raisd to the Joyes above the cares of kings
their singing makes ym drink their drinking sing
O happy men if twere not for the curse
of qualms repentance & an empty purse
but happy men at least for some few hours
Who force the Muse to nothing else but rime
& when your sense is drownd sing off yr time
Verse has another powr on other men
When the vexd thoughts by writing grow serene
full of the spleen & rage & scorn to see
the tide of vice & folly run so high
some from the world retire to poetry
& when their pens what grieves their bosoms speak
how honesty's a cully witt a rake
fair Virtue beggerd beauty grown a baud
Religion made a masque & gold a God
their breasts find ease by laying down their load
so Prophetts usd inspird of old to swell
& when they spoke their Oracles grew well
For me who never have a drinker been
Nor provd the witty forces of the spleen
for me who be it chance or carelessness
(forgive me half the world when I confess)
have never been in love in all my dayes
On other principles my pen I take
for meer disintrested diversions sake
I onely write as many lovers woo
but just when I have nothing else to do
& then to please my self as well as you
I seek no praise & keep me safe from shame
Not known to many & unknown to fame
I woud not blunty rail a folly down
Nor with undecent rage on vices run
Our master Horace wisely sung of old
that satyrs better if it Jear then scold
the Gall too much prevailing spoils the ink
Nor woul I frett mankind but make ym think
tis farr more human thus to show ye place
Where you ly open then throw in ye pass
Scheme | AXBBBCCDDXEE XAXDFFCCGGGXDGGXHHH DDIIJJJKKKXXLLXMM XNOXOXPXXXQQ XNXXAPPBBBMMXXRRSSXX |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Etheree (21%) |
Metre | 11111101 1111111 011101111 1111110011 111111111 111111101 1111011 111111101 11011111 011111111 111101101 11010101001 111110101 0101001111 1011111111 11111111 1101110101 11011111 1101111001 111111111 1111110111 1111101 1111111111 110111011 10110011 1111011101 1111011111 1111011101 110101011 1011011101 1111111111 1111010101 110110111 0101110101 1111111 0111101 110111 1101110111 010111011 1011010101 11010101 1101010111 1101111101 1101111101 110101101 11011111110 1101110111 111111111 1101011101 1011110101 11011111 011110111 1101011100 11111111 11010101 110110101 010101101 1111110111 11111111 111110011 1111010101 1101010101 1111111100 0111011101 1101010111 1101001111 11010101 111110101 1111110111 111111111 111111111 111100111 111110101 11111101 10101010111 111011111 0111010101 1111111111 1111011111 1111011011 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 3,220 |
Words | 657 |
Sentences | 1 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 12, 19, 17, 12, 20 |
Lines Amount | 80 |
Letters per line (avg) | 33 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 520 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 131 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 26, 2023
- 3:18 min read
- 55 Views
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"Satyr V. Verse" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 18 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/37065/satyr-v.--verse>.
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