Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DUKE UPON DUKE; A NEW BALLAD TO THE TUNE OF CHEVY CHASE, by ALEXANDER POPE


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DUKE UPON DUKE; A NEW BALLAD TO THE TUNE OF CHEVY CHASE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: To lordings proud I lay my tune
Last Line: That pride will have a fall.
Subject(s): Guise, Sir John (1677-1732); Politics & Government


To Lordings proud I tune my Lay,
Who feast in Bower or Hall:
Though Dukes they be, to Dukes I say,
That Pride will have a Fall.

Now, that this same it is right sooth,
Full plainly doth appear,
From what befel John Duke of Guise,
And Nic. of Lancastere.

When Richard Coeur de Lyon reign'd,
(Which means a Lion's Heart)
Like him his Barons rag'd and roar'd,
Each play'd a Lion's Part.

A Word and Blow was then enough,
(Such Honour did them prick)
If you but turn'd your Cheek, a Cuff,
And if your A--se, a Kick.

Look in their Face, they tweak'd your Nose,
At ev'ry Turn fell to 't;
Come near, they trod upon your Toes;
They fought from Head to Foot.

Of these, the Duke of Lancastere
Stood Paramount in Pride;
He kick'd, and cuff'd, and tweak'd, and trod
His Foes, and Friends beside.

Firm on his Front his Beaver sate,
So broad, it hid his Chin;
For why? he deem'd no Man his Mate,
And fear'd to tan his Skin.

With Spanish Wool he dy'd his Cheek,
With Essence oil'd his Hair;
No Vixen Civet-Cat so sweet,
Nor could so scratch and tear.

Right tall he made himself to show,
Though made full short by G--d:
And when all other Dukes did bow,
This Duke did only nod.

Yet courteous, blithe, and debonair,
To Guise's Duke was he;
Was never such a loving Pair,
How could they disagree?

Oh, thus it was. He lov'd him dear,
And cast how to requite him:
And having no Friend left but this,
He deem'd it meet to fight him.

Forthwith he drench'd his desp'rate Quill;
And thus he did indite:
'This Eve at Whisk ourself will play,
Sir Duke! be here to Night.'

Ah no, ah no, the guileless Guise
Demurely did reply,
I cannot go, nor yet can stand,
So sore the Gout have I.

The Duke in Wrath call'd for his Steeds,
And fiercely drove them on;
Lord! Lord! how rattl'd then thy Stones,
Oh Kingly Kensington!

All in a Trice he rush'd on Guise,
Thrust out his Lady dear,
He tweak'd his Nose, trod on his Toes,
And smote him on the Ear.

But mark, how 'midst of Victory,
Fate plays her old Dog Trick!
Up leap'd Duke John, and knock'd him down,
And so down fell Duke Nic.

Alas, oh Nic! Oh Nic. alas!
Right did thy Gossip call thee:
As who should say, alas the Day,
When John of Guise shall maul thee.

For on thee did he clap his Chair,
And on that Chair did sit;
And look'd, as if he meant therein
To do -- what was not fit.

Up didst thou look, oh woeful Duke!
Thy Mouth yet durst not ope,
Certes for fear, of finding there
A T--d instead of Trope.

'Lye there, thou Caitiff vile! quoth Guise,
No Sheet is here to save thee:
The Casement it is shut likewise;
Beneath my Feet I have thee.

'If thou hast ought to speak, speak out.'
Then Lancastere did cry,
'Know'st thou not me, nor yet thy self?
Who thou, and whom am I?

'Know'st thou not me, who (God be prais'd)
Have brawl'd, and quarrel'd more,
Than all the Line of Lancastere
That battl'd heretofore?

'In Senates fam'd for many a Speech,
And (what some awe must give ye,
Tho' laid thus low beneath thy breech,)
Still of the Council Privy.

'Still of the Dutchy Chancellor,
Durante Life I have it;
And turn, as now thou dost on me,
Mine A--e on them that gave it.'

But now the Servants they rush'd in;
And Duke Nic. up leap'd he:
I will not cope against such odds,
But, Guise! I'll fight with thee:

To-morrow with thee will I fight
Under the Greenwood Tree;
'No, not to-morrow, but to night
(Quoth Guise) I'll fight with thee.'

And now the Sun declining low
Bestreak'd with Blood the Skies;
When, with his Sword at Saddle Bow,
Rode forth the vailant Guise;

Full gently praunch'd he o'er the Lawn;
Oft' roll'd his Eyes around,
And from the Stirrup stretch'd, to find
Who was not to be found.

Long brandish'd he the Blade in Air,
Long look'd the Field all o'er:
At length he spy'd the Merry-men brown,
And eke the Coach and four.

From out the Boot bold Nicholas
Did wave his Wand so white,
As pointing out the gloomy Glade
Wherein he meant to fight.

All in that dreadful Hour, so calm
Was Lancastere to see,
As if he meant to take the Air,
Or only take a Fee.

And so he did -- for to New Court
His rowling Wheels did run:
Not that he shunn'd the doubtful Strife,
But Bus'ness must be done.

Back in the Dark, by Brompton Park,
He turn'd up through the Gore;
So slunk to Cambden House so high,
All in his Coach and four.

Mean while Duke Guise did fret and fume,
A Sight it was to see;
Benumm'd beneath the Evening Dew,
Under the Greenwood Tree.

Then, wet and weary, home he far'd,
Sore mutt'ring all the way,
'The Day I meet him, Nic. shall rue
The Cudgel of that Day.

'Mean Time on every Pissing-Post
Paste we this Recreant's Name,
So that each Pisser-by shall read,
And piss against the same.'

Now God preserve our gracious King!
And grant, his Nobles all
May learn this Lesson from Duke Nic.
That Pride will have a Fall.





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