A Tale from Dublin. Written in 1737
At Dublin's high feast sat Primate and Dean,Both dress'd like divines, with band and face clean:Quoth Hugh of Armagh, "The mob is grown bold.""Ay, ay," quoth the Dean, "the cause is old gold.""No, no," quoth the Primate, "if causes we sift,This mischief arises from witty Dean Swift."The smart one replied, "There's no wit in the case;And nothing of that ever troubled your grace.Though with your state sieve your own notions you split,A Boulter by name is no bolter of wit.It's matter of weight, and a mere money job;But the lower the coin the higher the mob.Go tell your friend Bob and the other great folk,That sinking the coin is a dangerous joke.The Irish dear joys have enough common sense,To treat gold reduced like Wood's copper pence.It is a pity a prelate should die without law;But if I say the word--take care of Armagh!"
Words in this poem
- 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.]
- witty a.
- Possessed of wit; knowing; wise; skillful; judicious; clever; cunning. [AS. witig, wittig. See Wit, n.]
- boulter n.
- A long, stout fishing line to which many hooks are attached. [Etymol. uncertain.]
- bolter n.
- One who bolts; esp.: (a) A horse which starts suddenly aside.
- 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.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Tale from Dublin. Written in 1737 is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 2, Project Gutenberg ebook #13621; 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, A Tale from Dublin. Written in 1737, in Cadenus and Vanessa, and Other Poems (1710–1745), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #13621, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/swift-poems/a-tale-from-dublin-written-in-1737.html, id L09359.
Form and metre
A Tale from Dublin. Written in 1737 is 18 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets. The metre is anapaestic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%). 82% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.6 syllables.
See other poems in rhyming couplets, other poems in anapaestic 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 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHII deanA · cleanA · boldB · goldB · siftC · swiftC · caseD · graceD · splitE · witE · jobF · mobF · folkG · jokeG · senseH · penceH · lawI · armaghI
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 tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| At Dublin's high feast sat Primate and Dean, | 10 | ·/˘···/··· |
| Both dress'd like divines, with band and face clean: | 10 | ···˘/····· |
| Quoth Hugh of Armagh, "The mob is grown bold." | 10 | ·········· |
| "Ay, ay," quoth the Dean, "the cause is old gold." | 10 | ·········· |
| "No, no," quoth the Primate, "if causes we sift, | 11 | ····/··/˘·· |
| This mischief arises from witty Dean Swift." | 11 | ·/˘˘/˘·/˘·· |
| The smart one replied, "There's no wit in the case; | 11 | ···˘/······ |
| And nothing of that ever troubled your grace. | 11 | ·/˘··/˘/˘·· |
| Though with your state sieve your own notions you split, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| A Boulter by name is no bolter of wit. | 11 | ·/˘····/˘·· |
| It's matter of weight, and a mere money job; | 11 | ·/˘·····/˘· |
| But the lower the coin the higher the mob. | 11 | ··/˘···/˘·· |
| Go tell your friend Bob and the other great folk, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| That sinking the coin is a dangerous joke. | 11 | ·/˘····/˘˘· |
| The Irish dear joys have enough common sense, | 11 | ·/˘···˘//˘· |
| To treat gold reduced like Wood's copper pence. | 11 | ···˘/˘··/˘· |
| It is a pity a prelate should die without law; | 13 | ···/˘·/······ |
| But if I say the word--take care of Armagh!" | 11 | ··········· |
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.