Analysis of Bob Polter
William Schwenck Gilbert 1836 – 1911
BOB POLTER was a navvy, and
His hands were coarse, and dirty too,
His homely face was rough and tanned,
His time of life was thirty-two.
He lived among a working clan
(A wife he hadn't got at all),
A decent, steady, sober man -
No saint, however - not at all.
He smoked, but in a modest way,
Because he thought he needed it;
He drank a pot of beer a day,
And sometimes he exceeded it.
At times he'd pass with other men
A loud convivial night or two,
With, very likely, now and then,
On Saturdays, a fight or two.
But still he was a sober soul,
A labour-never-shirking man,
Who paid his way - upon the whole
A decent English working man.
One day, when at the Nelson's Head
(For which he may be blamed of you),
A holy man appeared, and said,
"Oh, ROBERT, I'm ashamed of you."
He laid his hand on ROBERT'S beer
Before he could drink up any,
And on the floor, with sigh and tear,
He poured the pot of "thruppenny."
"Oh, ROBERT, at this very bar
A truth you'll be discovering,
A good and evil genius are
Around your noddle hovering.
"They both are here to bid you shun
The other one's society,
For Total Abstinence is one,
The other, Inebriety."
He waved his hand - a vapour came -
A wizard POLTER reckoned him;
A bogy rose and called his name,
And with his finger beckoned him.
The monster's salient points to sum, -
His heavy breath was portery:
His glowing nose suggested rum:
His eyes were gin-and-WORtery.
His dress was torn - for dregs of ale
And slops of gin had rusted it;
His pimpled face was wan and pale,
Where filth had not encrusted it.
"Come, POLTER," said the fiend, "begin,
And keep the bowl a-flowing on -
A working man needs pints of gin
To keep his clockwork going on."
BOB shuddered: "Ah, you've made a miss
If you take me for one of you:
You filthy beast, get out of this -
BOB POLTER don't wan't none of you."
The demon gave a drunken shriek,
And crept away in stealthiness,
And lo! instead, a person sleek,
Who seemed to burst with healthiness.
"In me, as your adviser hints,
Of Abstinence you've got a type -
Of MR. TWEEDIE'S pretty prints
I am the happy prototype.
"If you abjure the social toast,
And pipes, and such frivolities,
You possibly some day may boast
My prepossessing qualities!"
BOB rubbed his eyes, and made 'em blink:
"You almost make me tremble, you!
If I abjure fermented drink,
Shall I, indeed, resemble you?
"And will my whiskers curl so tight?
My cheeks grow smug and muttony?
My face become so red and white?
My coat so blue and buttony?
"Will trousers, such as yours, array
Extremities inferior?
Will chubbiness assert its sway
All over my exterior?
"In this, my unenlightened state,
To work in heavy boots I comes;
Will pumps henceforward decorate
My tiddle toddle tootsicums?
"And shall I get so plump and fresh,
And look no longer seedily?
My skin will henceforth fit my flesh
So tightly and so TWEEDIE-ly?"
The phantom said, "You'll have all this,
You'll know no kind of huffiness,
Your life will be one chubby bliss,
One long unruffled puffiness!"
"Be off!" said irritated BOB.
"Why come you here to bother one?
You pharisaical old snob,
You're wuss almost than t'other one!
"I takes my pipe - I takes my pot,
And drunk I'm never seen to be:
I'm no teetotaller or sot,
And as I am I mean to be!"
Scheme | ABXB CDCD EFEF GBGB HCHC IBIB JKXC LMLM NKNA OPOP QJQJ RFRF STST UBUB VUVX WXWX YUYX ZBZB 1 C1 C E2 E2 3 X3 U 4 D4 X UUUU 5 N5 N XKXK |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Quatrain |
Metre | 111010 11010101 11011101 11111101 11010101 01110111 01010101 1110111 11100101 01111101 11011101 00110101 11111101 010100111 11010101 11000111 11110101 0110101 11110101 01010101 11110101 11111111 01010101 11010111 11111101 01111110 01011101 110111 11011101 01110100 01010101 0111100 11111111 01010100 11010011 0101 1111011 0101101 0110111 01110101 01100111 110111 11010101 110101 11111111 01111101 1111101 11110101 1110101 01010101 01011111 1111101 11011101 11111111 11011111 11111111 01010101 010101 01010101 11111100 01110101 11001101 1101101 1101010 1110101 01011 11001111 11100 11110111 1111101 1110101 11010101 01110111 111101 11011101 111101 11011101 01000100 110111 11010100 0110101 11010111 11110 11101 01111101 011101 11111111 11001101 01011111 111111 11111101 110101 1111001 11111101 1111 11111101 11111111 01110111 11111 01111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 3,151 |
Words | 620 |
Sentences | 37 |
Stanzas | 25 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 100 |
Letters per line (avg) | 25 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 98 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 24 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:08 min read
- 56 Views
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"Bob Polter" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 8 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/41212/bob-polter>.
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