Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MY LORD ALL-PRIDE, by JOHN WILMOT


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MY LORD ALL-PRIDE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Bursting with pride, the loathed impostume swells
Last Line: This knight o' th' burning pestle makes us sport.
Alternate Author Name(s): Rochester, 2d Earl Of
Subject(s): Sheffield, John (1648-1721); Buckingham & Normandy, 1st Duke Of; Mulgrave, 3d Earl Of


Bursting with pride, the loathed impostume swells;
Prick him, he sheds his venom straight, and smells.
But 'tis so lewd a scribbler, that he writes
With as much force to nature as he fights;
Hardened in shame, 'tis such a baffled fop
That every schoolboy whips him like a top.
And, with his arm and head, his brain's so weak
That his starved fancy is compelled to rake
Among the excrements of others' wit
To make a stinking meal of what they shit;
So swine, for nasty meat, to dunghill run,
And toss their gruntling snouts up when they've done.
Against his stars the coxcomb ever strives,
And to be something they forbid, contrives.
With a red nose, splay foot, and goggle eye,
A plowman's looby mien, face all awry,
With stinking breath, and every loathsome mark,
The Punchinello sets up for a spark.
With equal self-conceit, too, he bears arms,
But with that vile success his part performs
That he burlesques his trade, and what is best
In others, turns like Harlequin to jest.
So have I seen, at Smithfield's wondrous fair,
When all his brother monsters flourish there,
A lubbard elephant divert the town
With making legs, and shooting off a gun.
Go where he will, he never finds a friend;
Shame and derision all his steps attend.
Alike abroad, at home, i' th' camp and Court,
This Knight o' th' Burning Pestle makes us sport.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net