Written in October, 1714
'Tis true--then why should I repineTo see my life so fast decline?But why obscurely here alone,Where I am neither loved nor known?My state of health none care to learn;My life is here no soul's concern:And those with whom I now converseWithout a tear will tend my hearse.Removed from kind Arbuthnot's aid,Who knows his art, but not his trade,Preferring his regard for meBefore his credit, or his fee.Some formal visits, looks, and words,What mere humanity affords,I meet perhaps from three or four,From whom I once expected more;Which those who tend the sick for pay,Can act as decently as they:But no obliging, tender friend,To help at my approaching end.My life is now a burthen grownTo others, ere it be my own.Ye formal weepers for the sick,In your last offices be quick;And spare my absent friends the griefTo hear, yet give me no relief;Expired to-day, entomb'd to-morrow,When known, will save a double sorrow.
Words in this poem
- repine v. i.
- To fail; to wane. [Pref. re- + pine to languish.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Written in October, 1714 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, Written in October, 1714, in Cadenus and Vanessa, and Other Poems (1710–1745), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #13621, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/swift-poems/written-in-october-1714.html, id L09311.
Form and metre
Written in October, 1714 is 28 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.1 syllables. 3 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 18% 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 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMMNN repineA · declineA · aloneB · knownB · learnC · concernC · converseD · hearseD · aidE · tradeE · meF · feeF · wordsG · affordsG · fourH · moreH · payI · theyI · friendJ · endJ · grownK · ownK · sickL · quickL · griefM · reliefM · morrowN · sorrowN
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 |
|---|---|---|
| 'Tis true--then why should I repine | 8 | ······˘/ |
| To see my life so fast decline? | 8 | ······˘/ |
| But why obscurely here alone, | 8 | ··˘/˘·˘/ |
| Where I am neither loved nor known? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| My state of health none care to learn; | 8 | ········ |
| My life is here no soul's concern: | 8 | ······˘/ |
| And those with whom I now converse | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Without a tear will tend my hearse. | 8 | ········ |
| Removed from kind Arbuthnot's aid, | 8 | ˘/··˘/˘· |
| Who knows his art, but not his trade, | 8 | ········ |
| Preferring his regard for me | 8 | ˘/˘·˘/·· |
| Before his credit, or his fee. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Some formal visits, looks, and words, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| What mere humanity affords, | 8 | ··˘/˘˘˘/ |
| I meet perhaps from three or four, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| From whom I once expected more; | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Which those who tend the sick for pay, | 8 | ········ |
| Can act as decently as they: | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| But no obliging, tender friend, | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| To help at my approaching end. | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| My life is now a burthen grown | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To others, ere it be my own. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Ye formal weepers for the sick, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| In your last offices be quick; | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| And spare my absent friends the grief | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| To hear, yet give me no relief; | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Expired to-day, entomb'd to-morrow, | 9 | ˘/··˘/·/˘ |
| When known, will save a double sorrow. | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
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