Analysis of Muiopotmos, Or The Fate Of The Butterflie
Edmund Spenser 1552 (London) – 1599 (London)
I SING of deadly dolorous debate,
Stir'd vp through wrathfull Nemesis despight,
Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate,
Drawne into armes, and proofe of mortall fight,
Through prowd ambition, and hartswelling hate,
Whilest neither could the others greater might
And sdeignfull scorne endure; that from small iarre
Their wraths at length broke into open warre.
The rote whereof and tragicall effect,
Vouchsafe, O thou the mournfulst Muse of nyne,
That wontst the tragick stage for to direct,
In funerall complaints and waylfull tyne,
Reueale to me, and all the meanes detect,
Through which sad Clarion did at last declyne
To lowest wretchednes; And is there then
Such rancor in the harts of mightie men?
Of all the race of siluer-winged Flies
Which doo possesse the Empire of the aire,
Betwixt the centred earth, and azure skies,
Was none more fauourable, nor more faire,
Whilst heauen did fauour his felicities,
Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire
Of Muscaroll, and in his fathers sight
Of all aliue did seeme the fairest wight.
With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed
Of future good, which his young toward yeares,
Full of braue courage and bold hardyhed,
Aboue th' ensample of his equall peares,
Did largely promise, and to him forered,
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender teares)
That he in time would sure proue such an one,
As should be worthie of his fathers throne.
The fresh young flie, in whom the kindly fire
Of lustfull yong[th] began to kindle fast,
Did much disdaine to subject his desire
To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast,
But ioy'd to range abroad in fresh attire;
Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast,
And with vnwearied wings each part t'inquire
Of the wide rule of his renowmed sire.
For he so swift and nimble was of flight,
That from this lower tract he dar'd to stie
Vp to the clowdes, and thence with pineons light,
To mount aloft vnto the Christall skie,
To vew the workmanship of heauens hight:
Whence downe descending he along would flie
Vpon the streaming riuers, sport to finde;
And oft would dare to tempt the troublous winde.
So on a Summers day, when season milde
With gentle calme the world had quieted,
And high in heauen Hyperionsfierie childe
Ascending, did his beames abroad dispred,
Whiles all the heauens on lower creatures smilde;
Yong Clarion with vaunted lustie head,
After his guize did cast abroad to fare;
And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare.
His breastplate first, that was of substance pure,
Before his noble heart he firmely bound,
That mought his life from yron death assure,
And ward his gentle corpes from cruell wound:
For it by arte was framed to endure
The bit of balefull steele and bitter stownd,
No lesse then that, which Vulcane made to sheild
Achilles life from fate of Troyan field.
And then about his shoulders broad he threw
An hairie hide of some wild beast, whom hee
In saluage forrest by aduenture slew,
And rest the spoyle his ornament to bee:
Which spredding all his backe with dreadfull vew,
Made all that him so horrible did see,
Thinke him Alcides with the Lyons skin,
When the Næmean Conquest he did win.
Vpon his head his glistering Burganet,
The which was wrought by wonderous deuice,
And curiously engrauen, he did set:
The mettall was of rare and passing price;
Not Bilbo steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet,
Nor costly Oricalche from strange Phoenice;
But such as could both Phoebus arrowes ward,
And th' hayling darts of heauen beating hard.
Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,
Strongly outlaunced towards either side,
Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore:
Like as a warlike Brigandine, applyde
To fight, layes forth her threatfull pikes afore,
The engines which in them sad death doo hyde:
So did this flie outstretch his fearefull hornes,
Yet so as him their terrour more adornes.
Lastly his shinie wings as siluer bright,
Painted with thousand colours, passing farre
All Painters skill, he did about him dight:
Not halfe so manie sundrie colours arre
In Iris bowe, ne heauen doth shine so bright,
Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre,
Nor Iunoes Bird in her ey-spotted traine
So many goodly colours doth containe.
Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken)
The Archer God, the son of Cytheree,
That ioyes on wretched louers to be wroken,
And heaped spoyles of bleeding harts to see,
Beares in his wings so manie a changefull token.
Ah my liege Lord, forgiue it vnto mee,
If ought against thi
Scheme | AAABABCC DEDEDEEE FCFCFCBB GFAFAFEE CXCACXCC BABXBHAAA XXAAGCCCIC ICAAXCJHJX JEEAFXXAFX XCKCACKFF BCACBCEE ECEJEJJ |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11110101 11111001 011111101 101101111 11010011 1101010101 011011111 1111101101 0110101 11101111 110111101 0101011 111010101 1111001111 11010111 110001111 11011111 1110100101 010110101 1111111 111111 1100010101 11001101 111110101 11111111 1101111011 11110011 11111111 110100111 1111110101 1101111111 111111101 01110101010 111011101 1111011010 1101110111 11110101010 101101011 011111101 101111110 1111010111 1111011111 110101111 11011011 11010111 1101010111 10101111 011111011 1101011101 1101011100 010111 010111011 1101110101 110011011 1011110111 0111101 111111101 011101111 111111101 011101111 111111101 011110101 111111111 0101111101 0101110111 111111111 0110111 0101110011 11111111 1111110011 11110101 101110111 111111 0111111 010001111 011110101 111111101 1101111 111111011 0111111101 0111010111 10101101 1111110011 110111 11110111 0101011111 111101111 11111111 10111111 101101101 1101110111 1111111 0101111111 01011011 111001101 11010111 11111110 01010111 111101111 011110111 1011110110 11111111 11011 |
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 4,323 |
Words | 765 |
Sentences | 14 |
Stanzas | 12 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 9, 8, 7 |
Lines Amount | 103 |
Letters per line (avg) | 34 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 295 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 64 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 01, 2023
- 3:50 min read
- 627 Views
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"Muiopotmos, Or The Fate Of The Butterflie" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/9162/muiopotmos%2C-or-the-fate-of-the-butterflie>.
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