On a Corkscrew
Though I, alas! a prisoner be,My trade is prisoners to set free.No slave his lord's commands obeysWith such insinuating ways.My genius piercing, sharp, and bright,Wherein the men of wit delight.The clergy keep me for their ease,And turn and wind me as they please.A new and wondrous art I showOf raising spirits from below;In scarlet some, and some in white;They rise, walk round, yet never fright.In at each mouth the spirits pass,Distinctly seen as through a glass:O'er head and body make a rout,And drive at last all secrets out;And still, the more I show my art,The more they open every heart.A greater chemist none than IWho, from materials hard and dry,Have taught men to extract with skillMore precious juice than from a still.Although I'm often out of case,I'm not ashamed to show my face.Though at the tables of the greatI near the sideboard take my seat;Yet the plain 'squire, when dinner's done,Is never pleased till I make one;He kindly bids me near him stand,And often takes me by the hand.I twice a-day a-hunting go;Nor ever fail to seize my foe;And when I have him by the poll,I drag him upwards from his hole;Though some are of so stubborn kind,I'm forced to leave a limb behind.I hourly wait some fatal end;For I can break, but scorn to bend.
Words in this poem
- wondrous adv.
- In a wonderful or surprising manner or degree; wonderfully. [OE. wonders, adv. (later also adj.). See Wonder, n., and cf. -wards.]
- hourly a.
- Happening or done every hour; occurring hour by hour; frequent; often repeated; renewed hour by hour; continual.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
On a Corkscrew 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, On a Corkscrew, in Poems, Volume II (1710–1745), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #13621, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/swift-poems/on-a-corkscrew.html, id L09255.
Form and metre
On a Corkscrew is 38 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets, 95% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 100% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.0 syllables. 13% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJKKLL--MMNNOOPPQQRR beA · freeA · obeysB · waysB · brightC · delightC · easeD · pleaseD · showE · belowE · whiteF · frightF · passG · glassG · routH · outH · artI · heartI · iJ · dryJ · skillK · stillK · caseL · faceL · great · seat · doneM · oneM · standN · handN · goO · foeO · pollP · holeP · kindQ · behindQ · endR · bendR
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Though I, alas! a prisoner be, | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| My trade is prisoners to set free. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| No slave his lord's commands obeys | 8 | ····˘/˘/ |
| With such insinuating ways. | 8 | ··˘/˘˘˘· |
| My genius piercing, sharp, and bright, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Wherein the men of wit delight. | 8 | ······˘/ |
| The clergy keep me for their ease, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And turn and wind me as they please. | 8 | ········ |
| A new and wondrous art I show | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Of raising spirits from below; | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| In scarlet some, and some in white; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| They rise, walk round, yet never fright. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| In at each mouth the spirits pass, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Distinctly seen as through a glass: | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| O'er head and body make a rout, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And drive at last all secrets out; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And still, the more I show my art, | 8 | ········ |
| The more they open every heart. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| A greater chemist none than I | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Who, from materials hard and dry, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Have taught men to extract with skill | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| More precious juice than from a still. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Although I'm often out of case, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I'm not ashamed to show my face. | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Though at the tables of the great | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I near the sideboard take my seat; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Yet the plain 'squire, when dinner's done, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Is never pleased till I make one; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| He kindly bids me near him stand, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And often takes me by the hand. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| I twice a-day a-hunting go; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Nor ever fail to seize my foe; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And when I have him by the poll, | 8 | ········ |
| I drag him upwards from his hole; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Though some are of so stubborn kind, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I'm forced to leave a limb behind. | 8 | ········ |
| I hourly wait some fatal end; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| For I can break, but scorn to bend. | 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.