Ballade of a Great Weariness
There's little to have but the things I had,There's little to bear but the things I bore.There's nothing to carry and naught to add,And glory to Heaven, I paid the score.There's little to do but I did before,There's little to learn but the things I know;And this is the sum of a lasting lore:Scratch a lover, and find a foe.
And couldn't it be I was young and madIf ever my heart on my sleeve I wore?There's many to claw at a heart unclad,And little the wonder it ripped and tore.There's one that'll join in their push and roar,With stories to jabber, and stones to throw;He'll fetch you a lesson that costs you sore--Scratch a lover, and find a foe.
So little I'll offer to you, my lad;It's little in loving I set my store.There's many a maid would be flushed and glad,And better you'll knock at a kindlier door.I'll dig at my lettuce, and sweep my floor--Forever, forever I'm done with woe--And happen I'll whistle about my chore,"Scratch a lover and find a foe."
Oh, beggar or prince, no more, no more!Be off and away with your strut and show.The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core--Scratch a lover, and find a foe!
Words in this poem
- tore n.
- The dead grass that remains on mowing land in winter and spring. Mortimer. [Probably from the root of tear; cf. W. tór a break, cut, tóri to break, cut.]
- chore n.
- A choir or chorus. B. Jonson.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Ballade of a Great Weariness is in the public domain. This text is taken from Enough Rope: Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #68353; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Dorothy Parker, Ballade of a Great Weariness, in Enough Rope (1926), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #68353, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/parker-enough-rope/ballade-of-a-great-weariness.html, id L27361.
Form and metre
Ballade of a Great Weariness is 28 lines in 4 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABABBCBC, complete in 3 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 74%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
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 ABABBCBC hadA · boreB · addA · scoreB · beforeB · knowC · loreB · foeC
- 2 ABABBCBC madA · woreB · uncladA · toreB · roarB · throwC · soreB · foeC
- 3 ABABBCBC ladA · storeB · gladA · doorB · floorB · woeC · choreB · foeC
- 4 ABAB moreA · showB · coreA · foeB
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 iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| There's little to have but the things I had, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| There's little to bear but the things I bore. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| There's nothing to carry and naught to add, | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| And glory to Heaven, I paid the score. | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| There's little to do but I did before, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| There's little to learn but the things I know; | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And this is the sum of a lasting lore: | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Scratch a lover, and find a foe. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| And couldn't it be I was young and mad | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| If ever my heart on my sleeve I wore? | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| There's many to claw at a heart unclad, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And little the wonder it ripped and tore. | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| There's one that'll join in their push and roar, | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| With stories to jabber, and stones to throw; | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| He'll fetch you a lesson that costs you sore-- | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| Scratch a lover, and find a foe. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| So little I'll offer to you, my lad; | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| It's little in loving I set my store. | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| There's many a maid would be flushed and glad, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And better you'll knock at a kindlier door. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| I'll dig at my lettuce, and sweep my floor-- | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| Forever, forever I'm done with woe-- | 10 | ˘/˘˘/˘···· |
| And happen I'll whistle about my chore, | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| "Scratch a lover and find a foe." | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Oh, beggar or prince, no more, no more! | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Be off and away with your strut and show. | 10 | ···˘/····· |
| The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core-- | 11 | ·/˘·/˘·/˘·· |
| Scratch a lover, and find a foe! | 8 | ··/˘···· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.