From ‘She Stoops to Conquer’
LET school-masters puzzle their brain,With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,Gives ‘genus’ a better discerning.Let them brag of their heathenish gods,Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians:Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods,They’re all but a parcel of Pigeons.Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
When Methodist preachers come downA-preaching that drinking is sinful,I’ll wager the rascals a crownThey always preach best with a skinful.But when you come down with your pence,For a slice of their scurvy religion,I’ll leave it to all men of sense,But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
Then come, put the jorum about,And let us be merry and clever;Our hearts and our liquors are stout;Here’s the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.Let some cry up woodcock or hare,Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;But of all the birds in the air,Here’s a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
Words in this poem
- stoutly adv.
- In a stout manner; lustily; boldly; obstinately; as, he stoutly defended himself.
- skinful n.
- As much as a skin can hold.
- jorum n.
- A large drinking vessel; also, its contents. [Perh. corrupted fr. jorden an earthen pot.]
- woodcock n.
- Any one of several species of long-billed limicoline birds belonging to the genera Scolopax and Philohela. They are mostly nocturnal in their habits, and are highly esteemed as game birds. [AS. wuducoc.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
From ‘She Stoops to Conquer’ is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Complete Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith, Project Gutenberg ebook #3545; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Oliver Goldsmith, From ‘She Stoops to Conquer’, in Poems (1764–1774), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #3545, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/goldsmith-poems/from-she-stoops-to-conquer.html, id L00442.
Form and metre
From ‘She Stoops to Conquer’ is 27 lines in 3 stanzas of 9 lines each. The metre is anapaestic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%). 83% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.7 syllables. 11 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 7% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in anapaestic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABC-C-- brainA · learningB · maintainA · discerningB · godsC · stygians · quodsC · pigeons · toroll
- 2 A-A-BCBC- downA · sinful · crownA · skinful · penceB · religionC · senseB · pigeonC · toroll
- 3 ABABCDCD- aboutA · cleverB · stoutA · everB · hareC · widgeonsD · airC · pigeonsD · toroll
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against anapaestic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| LET school-masters puzzle their brain, | 8 | ··/˘/˘·· |
| With grammar, and nonsense, and learning; | 9 | ·/˘·/˘·/˘ |
| Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘˘/ |
| Gives ‘genus’ a better discerning. | 9 | ·/˘·/˘˘/˘ |
| Let them brag of their heathenish gods, | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians: | 9 | ···/˘·/˘˘ |
| Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods, | 8 | ········ |
| They’re all but a parcel of Pigeons. | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. | 8 | ········ |
| When Methodist preachers come down | 8 | ·/˘˘/˘·· |
| A-preaching that drinking is sinful, | 9 | ·/˘·/˘·/˘ |
| I’ll wager the rascals a crown | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| They always preach best with a skinful. | 9 | ·/·····/˘ |
| But when you come down with your pence, | 8 | ········ |
| For a slice of their scurvy religion, | 10 | ·····/˘˘/˘ |
| I’ll leave it to all men of sense, | 8 | ········ |
| But you, my good friend, are the pigeon. | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. | 8 | ········ |
| Then come, put the jorum about, | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| And let us be merry and clever; | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| Our hearts and our liquors are stout; | 8 | /··//˘·· |
| Here’s the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever. | 9 | ···/˘/˘·/ |
| Let some cry up woodcock or hare, | 8 | ····/··· |
| Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons; | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| But of all the birds in the air, | 8 | ········ |
| Here’s a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons. | 10 | ······/˘/˘ |
| Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. | 8 | ········ |
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