Baucis and Philemon
In ancient times, as story tells,The saints would often leave their cells,And stroll about, but hide their quality,To try good people's hospitality.It happen'd on a winter night,As authors of the legend write,Two brother hermits, saints by trade,Taking their tour in masquerade,Disguis'd in tatter'd habits, wentTo a small village down in Kent;Where, in the strollers' canting strain,They begg'd from door to door in vain,Try'd ev'ry tone might pity win;But not a soul would let them in.Our wand'ring saints, in woful state,Treated at this ungodly rate,Having thro' all the village past,To a small cottage came at lastWhere dwelt a good old honest ye'man,Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon;Who kindly did these saints inviteIn his poor hut to pass the night;And then the hospitable sireBid Goody Baucis mend the fire;While he from out the chimney tookA flitch of bacon off the hook,And freely from the fattest sideCut out large slices to be fry'd;Then stepp'd aside to fetch 'em drink,Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,And saw it fairly twice go round;Yet (what was wonderful) they found'Twas still replenished to the top,As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop.The good old couple were amaz'd,And often on each other gaz'd;For both were frighten'd to the heart,And just began to cry, "What art!"Then softly turn'd aside, to viewWhether the lights were burning blue.The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't,Told them their calling and their errand:"Good folk, you need not be afraid,We are but saints," the hermits said;"No hurt shall come to you or yours:But for that pack of churlish boors,Not fit to live on Christian ground,They and their houses shall be drown'd;While you shall see your cottage rise,And grow a church before your eyes."They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft,The roof began to mount aloft;Aloft rose ev'ry beam and rafter;The heavy wall climb'd slowly after.The chimney widen'd, and grew higherBecame a steeple with a spire.The kettle to the top was hoist,And there stood fasten'd to a joist,But with the upside down, to showIts inclination for below:In vain; for a superior forceApplied at bottom stops its course:Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell,'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.A wooden jack, which had almostLost by disuse the art to roast,A sudden alteration feels,Increas'd by new intestine wheels;And, what exalts the wonder more,The number made the motion slower.The flyer, though it had leaden feet,Turn'd round so quick you scarce could see't;But, slacken'd by some secret power,Now hardly moves an inch an hour.The jack and chimney, near ally'd,Had never left each other's side;The chimney to a steeple grown,The jack would not be left alone;But, up against the steeple rear'd,Became a clock, and still adher'd;And still its love to household cares,By a shrill voice at noon, declares,Warning the cookmaid not to burnThat roast meat, which it cannot turn.The groaning-chair began to crawl,Like an huge snail, half up the wall;There stuck aloft in public view,And with small change, a pulpit grew.The porringers, that in a rowHung high, and made a glitt'ring show,To a less noble substance chang'd,Were now but leathern buckets rang'd.The ballads, pasted on the wall,Of Joan of France, and English Mall,Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood,The little Children in the Wood,Now seem'd to look abundance better,Improved in picture, size, and letter:And, high in order plac'd, describeThe heraldry of ev'ry tribe.A bedstead of the antique mode,Compact of timber many a load,Such as our ancestors did use,Was metamorphos'd into pews;Which still their ancient nature keepBy lodging folk disposed to sleep.The cottage, by such feats as these,Grown to a church by just degrees,The hermits then desired their hostTo ask for what he fancy'd most.Philemon, having paused a while,Return'd them thanks in homely style;Then said, "My house is grown so fine,Methinks, I still would call it mine.I'm old, and fain would live at ease;Make me the parson if you please."He spoke, and presently he feelsHis grazier's coat fall down his heels:He sees, yet hardly can believe,About each arm a pudding sleeve;His waistcoat to a cassock grew,And both assumed a sable hue;But, being old, continued justAs threadbare, and as full of dust.His talk was now of tithes and dues:Could smoke his pipe, and read the news;Knew how to preach old sermons next,Vamp'd in the preface and the text;At christ'nings well could act his part,And had the service all by heart;Wish'd women might have children fast,And thought whose sow had farrow'd last;Against dissenters would repine,And stood up firm for "right divine;"Found his head fill'd with many a system;But classic authors,--he ne'er mist 'em.Thus having furbish'd up a parson,Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.Instead of homespun coifs, were seenGood pinners edg'd with colberteen;Her petticoat, transform'd apace,Became black satin, flounced with lace."Plain Goody" would no longer down,'Twas "Madam," in her grogram gown.Philemon was in great surprise,And hardly could believe his eyes.Amaz'd to see her look so prim,And she admir'd as much at him.Thus happy in their change of life,Were several years this man and wife:When on a day, which prov'd their last,Discoursing o'er old stories past,They went by chance, amidst their talk,To the churchyard to take a walk;When Baucis hastily cry'd out,"My dear, I see your forehead sprout!"--"Sprout;" quoth the man; "what's this you tell us?I hope you don't believe me jealous!But yet, methinks, I feel it true,And really yours is budding too--Nay,--nowI cannot stir my foot;It feels as if 'twere taking root."Description would but tire my Muse,In short, they both were turn'd to yews.Old Goodman Dobson of the GreenRemembers he the trees has seen;He'll talk of them from noon till night,And goes with folk to show the sight;On Sundays, after evening prayer,He gathers all the parish there;Points out the place of either yew,Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew:Till once a parson of our town,To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;At which, 'tis hard to be believ'dHow much the other tree was griev'd,Grew scrubby, dy'd a-top, was stunted,So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it.
Words in this poem 43
- tour n.
- A going round; a circuit; hence, a journey in a circuit; a prolonged circuitous journey; a comprehensive excursion; as, the tour of Europe; the tour of France or England. [F. tour. See Turn, v. t.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- canting a.
- Speaking in a whining tone of voice; using technical or religious terms affectedly; affectedly pious; as, a canting rogue; a canting tone. - Cant"ing*ly, adv.
- woful a.
- Full of woe; sorrowful; distressed with grief or calamity; afflicted; wretched; unhappy; sad.
- ungodly a.
- Not godly; not having regard for God; disobedient to God; wicked; impious; sinful.
- sire n.
- A lord, master, or other person in authority. See Sir. [F. sire, originally, an older person. See Sir.]
- goody n.
- A bonbon, cake, or the like; -- usually in the pl.
- chimney n.
- A fireplace or hearth. Sir W. Raleigh.
- flitch n.
- The side of a hog salted and cured; a side of bacon. [OE. flicche, flikke, AS. flicce, akin to Icel. flikki; cf. Icel. flik flap, tatter; perh. akin to E. fleck. Cf. Flick, n.]
- brink n.
- The edge, margin, or border of a steep place, as of a precipice; a bank or edge, as of a river or pit; a verge; a border; as, the brink of a chasm. Also Fig. [Dan. brink edge, verge; akin to Sw. brink declivity, hill, Icel. brekka; cf. LG. brink a grassy hill, W. bryn hill, bryncyn hillock.]
- fairly adv.
- In a fairmanner; clearly; openly; plainly; fully; distinctly; frankly.
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- scarce a.
- Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
- spoke n.
- The radius or ray of a wheel; one of the small bars which are inserted in the hub, or nave, and which serve to support the rim or felly. [OE. spoke, spake, AS, spaca; akin to D. speek, LG. speke, OHG. speihha, G. speiche. sq. root170. Cf. Spike a nail.]
- rafter n.
- Originally, any rough and somewhat heavy piece of timber. Now, commonly, one of the timbers of a roof which are put on sloping, according to the inclination of the roof. See Illust. of Queen-post. [AS. ræfter; akin to E. raft, n. See Raft.]
- kettle n.
- A metallic vessel, with a wide mouth, often without a cover, used for heating and boiling water or other liguids. Kettle pins, ninepins; skittles. Shelton. [OE. ketel; cf. AS. cetel, cetil, cytel; akin to D. kjedel, G. kessel, OHG. chezzil, Icel. ketill, SW. kittel, Dan. kjedel, Goth. katils; all perh. fr. L. catill]
- dwell v. i.
- To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
- flyer n.
- One that uses wings. [See Flier.]
- cookmaid n.
- A female servant or maid who dresses provisions and assists the cook.
- crawl v. i.
- To move slowly by drawing the body along the ground, as a worm; to move slowly on hands and kness; to creep. [Dan. kravle, or Icel. krafla, to paw, scrabble with the hands; akin to Sw. kr to crawl; cf. LG. krabbeln, D. krabbelen to scratch.]
- leathern a.
- Made of leather; consisting of. leather; as, a leathern purse.
- mall n.
- A large heavy wooden beetle; a mallet for driving anything with force; a maul. [OE. malle, F. mail, L. malleus. Cf. Malleus.]
- heraldry n.
- The art or office of a herald; the art, practice, or science of recording genealogies, and blazoning arms or ensigns armorial; also, of marshaling cavalcades, processions, and public ceremonies.
- homely a.
- Belonging to, or having the characteristics of, home; domestic; familiar; intimate. [From Home, n.]
- methinks v.
- It seems to me; I think. See Me. [AS. þyncan to seem, me þynceedh, me þuhte, OE. me thinketh, me thoughte; akin to G. dünken to seem, denken to think, and E. think. See Me, and Think.]
- fain v. t.
- To be glad ; to wish or desire.
- presently adv.
- At present; at this time; now.
- cassock n.
- A long outer garment formerly worn by men and women, as well as by soldiers as part of their uniform. [F. casaque, fr. It. casacca, perh. fr. L. casa cottage, in It., house; or of Slavic origin.]
- sable n.
- A carnivorous animal of the Weasel family (Mustela zibellina) native of the northern latitudes of Europe, Asia, and America, -- noted for its fine, soft, and valuable fur. [OF. sable, F. zibeline sable (in sense 4), LL. sabellum; cf. D. sabel, Dan. sabel, zobel, Sw. sabel, sobel, G. zobel; all fr. Russ. sóbole.]
- threadbare a.
- Worn to the naked thread; having the nap worn off; threadbare clothes.
- repine v. i.
- To fail; to wane. [Pref. re- + pine to languish.]
- classic a.
- Of or relating to the first class or rank, especially in literature or art. [L. classicus relating to the classes of the Roman people, and especially to the frist class; hence, of the first rank, superior, from classis class: cf. F. clas]
- dame n.
- A mistress of a family, who is a lady; a womam in authority; especially, a lady. [F. dame, LL. domna, fr. L. domina mistress, lady, fem. of dominus master, ruler, lord; akin to domare to tame, subdue. See Tame, and cf. Dam mother, Dan, Danger]
- homespun a.
- Spun or wrought at home; of domestic manufacture; coarse; plain.
- apace adv.
- With a quick pace; quick; fast; speedily. [Pref. a- + pace. OE. a pas at a walk, in which a is the article. See Pace.]
- grogram n.
- A coarse stuff made of silk and mohair, or of coarse silk. [OF. gros-grain, lit., gros-grain, of a coarse texture. See Gross, and Grain a kernel, and cf. Grog.]
- amidst prep.
- In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
- churchyard n.
- The ground adjoining a church, in which the dead are buried; a cemetery.
- quoth v. t.
- Said; spoke; uttered; -- used only in the first and third persons in the past tenses, and always followed by its nominative, the word or words said being the object; as, quoth I. quoth he. [AS.cweedhan, imp cwæedh, pl. cwædon; akin to OS. queedhan, OHG. quethan, quedan, Icel. kveedha, Goth. qiþan. sq. root22. Cf. Bequeath.]
- goodman n.
- A familiar appellation of civility, equivalent to [Good + man]
- dobson n.
- The aquatic larva of a large neuropterous insect (Corydalus cornutus), used as bait in angling. See Hellgamite.
- scrubby a.
- Of the nature of scrub; small and mean; stunted in growth; as, a scrubby cur.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Baucis and Philemon is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 1, Project Gutenberg ebook #14353; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Jonathan Swift, Baucis and Philemon, in On Poetry: A Rhapsody, and Other Poems (1727), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #14353, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/swift-poems-vol1/baucis-and-philemon-2.html, id L25602.
Form and metre
Baucis and Philemon is 178 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets, 84% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%).
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, other poems in iambic tetrameter.
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 AA--BBCCDDEEEEFFGG--HHIIJJ--KKLLMMNNOOPP----QQRRSS--TT--UUVVWWXXYYZZ--aabb--ccddeeffgghhiijjkkllmmnnoo--ppqqrrssttuuvvwwxxyyzzAABBCC-DEEDDDDFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMMNN----OOPPQQRRSSTTUU-- tellsA · cellsA · quality · hospitality · nightB · writeB · tradeC · masqueradeC · wentD · kentD · strainE · vainE · winE · inE · stateF · rateF · pastG · lastG · ye'man · philemon · inviteH · nightH · sireI · fireI · tookJ · hookJ · side · fry'd · drinkK · brinkK · roundL · foundL · topM · dropM · amaz'dN · gaz'dN · heartO · artO · viewP · blueP · on't · errand · afraid · said · yoursQ · boorsQ · groundR · drown'dR · riseS · eyesS · soft · aloft · rafterT · afterT · higher · spire · hoistU · joistU · showV · belowV · forceW · courseW · dwellX · bellX · almostY · roastY · feelsZ · wheelsZ · more · slower · feeta · see'ta · powerb · hourb · ally'd · side · grownc · alonec · rear'dd · adher'dd · carese · declarese · burnf · turnf · crawlg · wallg · viewh · grewh · rowi · showi · chang'dj · rang'dj · wallk · mallk · hoodl · woodl · betterm · letterm · describen · triben · modeo · loado · use · pews · keepp · sleepp · theseq · degreesq · hostr · mostr · whiles · styles · finet · minet · easeu · pleaseu · feelsv · heelsv · believew · sleevew · grewx · huex · justy · dusty · duesz · newsz · nextA · textA · partB · heartB · fastC · lastC · repine · divineD · systemE · emE · parsonD · onD · seenD · colberteenD · apaceF · laceF · downG · gownG · surpriseH · eyesH · primI · himI · lifeJ · wifeJ · lastK · pastK · talkL · walkL · outM · sproutM · usN · jealousN · true · now · foot · root · museO · yewsO · greenP · seenP · nightQ · sightQ · prayerR · thereR · yewS · grewS · townT · downT · believ'dU · griev'dU · stunted · it
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 tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| In ancient times, as story tells, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The saints would often leave their cells, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And stroll about, but hide their quality, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| To try good people's hospitality. | 9 | ···/˘·˘/˘ |
| It happen'd on a winter night, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| As authors of the legend write, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Two brother hermits, saints by trade, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Taking their tour in masquerade, | 8 | /˘····˘/ |
| Disguis'd in tatter'd habits, went | 8 | ˘/·/˘/˘· |
| To a small village down in Kent; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Where, in the strollers' canting strain, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| They begg'd from door to door in vain, | 8 | ········ |
| Try'd ev'ry tone might pity win; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| But not a soul would let them in. | 8 | ········ |
| Our wand'ring saints, in woful state, | 8 | /······· |
| Treated at this ungodly rate, | 8 | /˘··˘/˘· |
| Having thro' all the village past, | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| To a small cottage came at last | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Where dwelt a good old honest ye'man, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon; | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| Who kindly did these saints invite | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| In his poor hut to pass the night; | 8 | ········ |
| And then the hospitable sire | 9 | ···//˘˘/˘ |
| Bid Goody Baucis mend the fire; | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| While he from out the chimney took | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A flitch of bacon off the hook, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And freely from the fattest side | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Cut out large slices to be fry'd; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Then stepp'd aside to fetch 'em drink, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Fill'd a large jug up to the brink, | 8 | ········ |
| And saw it fairly twice go round; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Yet (what was wonderful) they found | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| 'Twas still replenished to the top, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop. | 8 | ········ |
| The good old couple were amaz'd, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| And often on each other gaz'd; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| For both were frighten'd to the heart, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And just began to cry, "What art!" | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Then softly turn'd aside, to view | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| Whether the lights were burning blue. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't, | 9 | ·/˘/˘·˘/· |
| Told them their calling and their errand: | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| "Good folk, you need not be afraid, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| We are but saints," the hermits said; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "No hurt shall come to you or yours: | 8 | ········ |
| But for that pack of churlish boors, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Not fit to live on Christian ground, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| They and their houses shall be drown'd; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| While you shall see your cottage rise, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And grow a church before your eyes." | 8 | ········ |
| They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft, | 8 | ········ |
| The roof began to mount aloft; | 8 | ··˘/··˘/ |
| Aloft rose ev'ry beam and rafter; | 9 | ˘/·····/˘ |
| The heavy wall climb'd slowly after. | 9 | ·/˘··/˘·· |
| The chimney widen'd, and grew higher | 9 | ·/˘/˘··/˘ |
| Became a steeple with a spire. | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| The kettle to the top was hoist, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And there stood fasten'd to a joist, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But with the upside down, to show | 8 | ···//··· |
| Its inclination for below: | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| In vain; for a superior force | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Applied at bottom stops its course: | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| 'Tis now no kettle, but a bell. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| A wooden jack, which had almost | 8 | ·/˘···/· |
| Lost by disuse the art to roast, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| A sudden alteration feels, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| Increas'd by new intestine wheels; | 8 | ˘/··˘/˘· |
| And, what exalts the wonder more, | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| The number made the motion slower. | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| The flyer, though it had leaden feet, | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| Turn'd round so quick you scarce could see't; | 8 | ········ |
| But, slacken'd by some secret power, | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Now hardly moves an inch an hour. | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| The jack and chimney, near ally'd, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Had never left each other's side; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The chimney to a steeple grown, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The jack would not be left alone; | 8 | ······˘/ |
| But, up against the steeple rear'd, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Became a clock, and still adher'd; | 8 | ˘/····˘/ |
| And still its love to household cares, | 8 | ·····/·· |
| By a shrill voice at noon, declares, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Warning the cookmaid not to burn | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| That roast meat, which it cannot turn. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The groaning-chair began to crawl, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| Like an huge snail, half up the wall; | 8 | ········ |
| There stuck aloft in public view, | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| And with small change, a pulpit grew. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The porringers, that in a row | 8 | ········ |
| Hung high, and made a glitt'ring show, | 8 | ········ |
| To a less noble substance chang'd, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Were now but leathern buckets rang'd. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| The ballads, pasted on the wall, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Of Joan of France, and English Mall, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood, | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| The little Children in the Wood, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Now seem'd to look abundance better, | 9 | ····˘/˘/˘ |
| Improved in picture, size, and letter: | 9 | ˘/·/˘··/˘ |
| And, high in order plac'd, describe | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| The heraldry of ev'ry tribe. | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| A bedstead of the antique mode, | 8 | ·/˘··˘/· |
| Compact of timber many a load, | 8 | ˘/·/˘/·· |
| Such as our ancestors did use, | 8 | ··//·˘·· |
| Was metamorphos'd into pews; | 8 | ········ |
| Which still their ancient nature keep | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| By lodging folk disposed to sleep. | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| The cottage, by such feats as these, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Grown to a church by just degrees, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| The hermits then desired their host | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| To ask for what he fancy'd most. | 8 | ········ |
| Philemon, having paused a while, | 8 | ˘/˘/˘··· |
| Return'd them thanks in homely style; | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| Then said, "My house is grown so fine, | 8 | ········ |
| Methinks, I still would call it mine. | 8 | ˘/······ |
| I'm old, and fain would live at ease; | 8 | ········ |
| Make me the parson if you please." | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| He spoke, and presently he feels | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| His grazier's coat fall down his heels: | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| He sees, yet hardly can believe, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| About each arm a pudding sleeve; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| His waistcoat to a cassock grew, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And both assumed a sable hue; | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| But, being old, continued just | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| As threadbare, and as full of dust. | 8 | ·/······ |
| His talk was now of tithes and dues: | 8 | ········ |
| Could smoke his pipe, and read the news; | 8 | ········ |
| Knew how to preach old sermons next, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Vamp'd in the preface and the text; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| At christ'nings well could act his part, | 8 | ········ |
| And had the service all by heart; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Wish'd women might have children fast, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And thought whose sow had farrow'd last; | 8 | ········ |
| Against dissenters would repine, | 8 | ··˘/˘·˘/ |
| And stood up firm for "right divine;" | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Found his head fill'd with many a system; | 9 | ·····/·/˘ |
| But classic authors,--he ne'er mist 'em. | 9 | ·/˘/˘···· |
| Thus having furbish'd up a parson, | 9 | ·/˘/˘··/˘ |
| Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on. | 9 | ········· |
| Instead of homespun coifs, were seen | 8 | ˘/·/···· |
| Good pinners edg'd with colberteen; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Her petticoat, transform'd apace, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘/ |
| Became black satin, flounced with lace. | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| "Plain Goody" would no longer down, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| 'Twas "Madam," in her grogram gown. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Philemon was in great surprise, | 8 | ˘/˘···˘/ |
| And hardly could believe his eyes. | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| Amaz'd to see her look so prim, | 8 | ˘/······ |
| And she admir'd as much at him. | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Thus happy in their change of life, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Were several years this man and wife: | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| When on a day, which prov'd their last, | 8 | ········ |
| Discoursing o'er old stories past, | 8 | /˘˘··/˘· |
| They went by chance, amidst their talk, | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| To the churchyard to take a walk; | 8 | ··/····· |
| When Baucis hastily cry'd out, | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| "My dear, I see your forehead sprout!"-- | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "Sprout;" quoth the man; "what's this you tell us? | 9 | ········· |
| I hope you don't believe me jealous! | 9 | ····˘/·/˘ |
| But yet, methinks, I feel it true, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| And really yours is budding too--Nay,--now | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| I cannot stir my foot; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| It feels as if 'twere taking root." | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Description would but tire my Muse, | 8 | ˘/˘··/·· |
| In short, they both were turn'd to yews. | 8 | ········ |
| Old Goodman Dobson of the Green | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Remembers he the trees has seen; | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| He'll talk of them from noon till night, | 8 | ········ |
| And goes with folk to show the sight; | 8 | ········ |
| On Sundays, after evening prayer, | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| He gathers all the parish there; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Points out the place of either yew, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew: | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Till once a parson of our town, | 8 | ···/˘·/· |
| To mend his barn, cut Baucis down; | 8 | ········ |
| At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd | 8 | ······˘/ |
| How much the other tree was griev'd, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Grew scrubby, dy'd a-top, was stunted, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it. | 9 | ···/˘···· |
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.