In Articulo Mortis
Son.Oh, my father! help, I pray!Death is near my soul to-day;With your blessing let me beMade a monk right speedily!
See the foe my life invade!Haste, oh haste, to give me aid!Bring me comfort and heart's ease,Strengthen me in this disease!
Father.Oh, my best-belovèd son,What is this thou wouldst have done?Weigh it well in heart and brain:Do not leave me here in pain.
Son.Father, this thy loving careMakes me weep full sore, I swear;For you will be childless whenI have joined those holy men.
Father.Therefore make a little stay,Put it off till the third day;It may be your danger isNot unto the death, I wis.
Son.Such the anguish that I feelThrough my inmost entrails steal,That I bide in doubt lest deathEre to-morrow end my breath.
Father.Those strict rules that monks observe,Well I know them! They must serveHeaven by fasting every day,And by keeping watch alway.
Son.Who for God watch through the nightShall receive a crown of light;Who for heaven's sake hungers, heShall be fed abundantly.
Father.Hard and coarse the food they eat,Beans and pottage-herbs their meat;After such a banquet, think,Water is their only drink!
Son.What's the good of feasts, or brightCups of Bacchus, when, in spiteOf all comforts, at the lastThis poor flesh to worms is cast?
Father.Well, then, let thy parent's moanMove thee in thy soul, my son!Mourning for thee made a monk,Dead-alive in darkness sunk.
Son.They who father, mother love,And their God neglect, will proveThat they are in error foundWhen the judgment trump shall sound.
Father.Logic! would thou ne'er hadst beenKnown on earth for mortal teen!Many a clerk thou mak'st to roamWretched, exiled from his home.--
Never more thine eyes, my son,Shall behold thy darling one,Him, that little clerk so fair,N., thy friend beyond compare!
Son.Oh, alas! unhappy me!What to do I cannot see;Wandering lost in exile so,Without guide or light I go!--
Dry your tears, my father dear,Haply there is better cheer;Now my mind on change is set,I'll not be a monk, not yet.
Words in this poem
- inmost a.
- Deepest within; farthest from the surface or external part; innermost. [OE. innemest, AS. innemest, a double superlative form fr. inne within, fr. in in. The modern form is due to confusion with most. See In, and cf. Aftermost, Fore]
- bide v. i.
- To dwell; to inhabit; to abide; to stay. [OE. biden, AS. bidan; akin to OHG. bitan, Goth. beidan, Icel. bi; perh. orig., to wait with trust, and akin to bid. See Bid, v. t., and cf. Abide.]
- 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,]
- teen n.
- Grief; sorrow; affiction; pain. Chaucer. [OE. tene, AS. teóna reproach, wrong, fr. teón to accuse; akin to G. zeihen, Goth. gateihan to tell, announce, L. dicere to say. See Token.]
- clerk n.
- A clergyman or ecclesiastic. [Either OF. clerc, fr. L. clericus a priest, or AS. clerc, cleric, clerk, priest, fr. L. clericus, fr. Gr. Clergy.]
- haply adv.
- By hap, chance, luck, or accident; perhaps; it may be.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
In Articulo Mortis is in the public domain. This text is taken from Wine, Women, and Song Mediaeval Latin Students' songs; Now first translated into English verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #18044; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: John Addington Symonds, In Articulo Mortis, in Wine, Women and Song (1884), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #18044, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/symonds-wine-women/in-articulo-mortis.html, id L11852.
Form and metre
In Articulo Mortis is 77 lines in 16 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 68% of the lines. The metre is trochaic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%). 98% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.1 syllables. 9 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 22% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in rhyming couplets, other poems in trochaic 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-- son · prayA · dayA · be · speedily
- 2 AABB invadeA · aidA · easeB · diseaseB
- 3 -AABB father · sonA · doneA · brainB · painB
- 4 -AABB son · careA · swearA · whenB · menB
- 5 -AA-- father · stayA · dayA · is · wis
- 6 -AABB son · feelA · stealA · deathB · breathB
- 7 -AA-- father · observeA · serveA · day · alway
- 8 -AA-- son · nightA · lightA · he · abundantly
- 9 -AABB father · eatA · meatA · thinkB · drinkB
- 10 -AABB son · brightA · spiteA · lastB · castB
- 11 ---AA father · moan · son · monkA · sunkA
- 12 -AABB son · loveA · proveA · foundB · soundB
- 13 ---AA father · been · teen · roamA · homeA
- 14 AABB sonA · oneA · fairB · compareB
- 15 -AABB son · meA · seeA · soB · goB
- 16 AABB dearA · cheerA · setB · yetB
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 trochaic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Son. | 1 | · |
| Oh, my father! help, I pray! | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Death is near my soul to-day; | 7 | ······· |
| With your blessing let me be | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Made a monk right speedily! | 7 | ····/˘˘ |
| See the foe my life invade! | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| Haste, oh haste, to give me aid! | 7 | ······· |
| Bring me comfort and heart's ease, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Strengthen me in this disease! | 7 | /˘···˘/ |
| Father. | 2 | /˘ |
| Oh, my best-belovèd son, | 6 | ······ |
| What is this thou wouldst have done? | 7 | ······· |
| Weigh it well in heart and brain: | 7 | ······· |
| Do not leave me here in pain. | 7 | ······· |
| Son. | 1 | · |
| Father, this thy loving care | 7 | /˘··/˘· |
| Makes me weep full sore, I swear; | 7 | ······· |
| For you will be childless when | 7 | ····/˘· |
| I have joined those holy men. | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Father. | 2 | /˘ |
| Therefore make a little stay, | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Put it off till the third day; | 7 | ······· |
| It may be your danger is | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Not unto the death, I wis. | 7 | ······· |
| Son. | 1 | · |
| Such the anguish that I feel | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Through my inmost entrails steal, | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| That I bide in doubt lest death | 7 | ······· |
| Ere to-morrow end my breath. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Father. | 2 | /˘ |
| Those strict rules that monks observe, | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| Well I know them! They must serve | 7 | ······· |
| Heaven by fasting every day, | 7 | /·/˘/˘· |
| And by keeping watch alway. | 7 | ··/˘·/˘ |
| Son. | 1 | · |
| Who for God watch through the night | 7 | ······· |
| Shall receive a crown of light; | 7 | ·˘/···· |
| Who for heaven's sake hungers, he | 8 | ··/˘·/˘· |
| Shall be fed abundantly. | 7 | ···˘/˘˘ |
| Father. | 2 | /˘ |
| Hard and coarse the food they eat, | 7 | ······· |
| Beans and pottage-herbs their meat; | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| After such a banquet, think, | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Water is their only drink! | 7 | /˘··/˘· |
| Son. | 1 | · |
| What's the good of feasts, or bright | 7 | ······· |
| Cups of Bacchus, when, in spite | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Of all comforts, at the last | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| This poor flesh to worms is cast? | 7 | ······· |
| Father. | 2 | /˘ |
| Well, then, let thy parent's moan | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Move thee in thy soul, my son! | 7 | ······· |
| Mourning for thee made a monk, | 7 | /˘····· |
| Dead-alive in darkness sunk. | 7 | ·˘/·/˘· |
| Son. | 1 | · |
| They who father, mother love, | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| And their God neglect, will prove | 7 | ···˘/·· |
| That they are in error found | 7 | ····/˘· |
| When the judgment trump shall sound. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Father. | 2 | /˘ |
| Logic! would thou ne'er hadst been | 7 | /˘····· |
| Known on earth for mortal teen! | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Many a clerk thou mak'st to roam | 7 | /······ |
| Wretched, exiled from his home.-- | 7 | /˘/···· |
| Never more thine eyes, my son, | 7 | /˘····· |
| Shall behold thy darling one, | 7 | ·˘/·/˘· |
| Him, that little clerk so fair, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| N., thy friend beyond compare! | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| Son. | 1 | · |
| Oh, alas! unhappy me! | 7 | ·˘/˘/˘· |
| What to do I cannot see; | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Wandering lost in exile so, | 7 | /˘··/·· |
| Without guide or light I go!-- | 7 | ······· |
| Dry your tears, my father dear, | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Haply there is better cheer; | 7 | /˘··/˘· |
| Now my mind on change is set, | 7 | ······· |
| I'll not be a monk, not yet. | 7 | ······· |
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.