Analysis of The Lady's Dressing Room
Jonathan Swift 1667 (Dublin) – 1745 (Ireland)
By haughty Celia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tissues.
Strephon, who found the room was void
And Betty otherwise employed,
Stole in and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay;
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.
And first a dirty smock appeared,
Beneath the arm-pits well besmeared.
Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide
And turned it round on every side.
On such a point few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
And swears how damnably the men lie
In calling Celia sweet and cleanly.
Now listen while he next produces
The various combs for various uses,
Filled up with dirt so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt.
A paste of composition rare,
Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair;
A forehead cloth with oil upon't
To smooth the wrinkles on her front.
Here alum flower to stop the steams
Exhaled from sour unsavory streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripsy's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripsy when she died,
With puppy water, beauty's help,
Distilled from Tripsy's darling whelp;
Here gallypots and vials placed,
Some filled with washes, some with paste,
Some with pomatum, paints and slops,
And ointments good for scabby chops.
Hard by a filthy basin stands,
Fouled with the scouring of her hands;
The basin takes whatever comes,
The scrapings of her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spews.
But oh! it turned poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begummed, besmattered, and beslimed
With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grimed.
No object Strephon's eye escapes:
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot
All varnished o'er with snuff and snot.
The stockings, why should I expose,
Stained with the marks of stinking toes;
Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking,
Which Celia slept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found
To pluck her brows in arches round,
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles grow.
The virtues we must not let pass,
Of Celia's magnifying glass.
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't
It shewed the visage of a giant.
A glass that can to sight disclose
The smallest worm in Celia's nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
(For catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out alive or dead.)
Why Strephon will you tell the rest?
And must you needs describe the chest?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner;
But leave it standing full in sight
For you to exercise your spite.
In vain, the workman shewed his wit
With rings and hinges counterfeit
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes;
For Strephon ventured to look in,
Resolved to go through thick and thin;
He lifts the lid, there needs no more:
He smelt it all the time before.
As from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus oped the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of humane evils upwards flew,
He still was comforted to find
That Hope at last remained behind;
So Strephon lifting up the lid
To view what in the chest was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent.
But Strephon cautious never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope
And foul his hands in search of Hope.
O never may such vile machine
Be once in Celia's chamber seen!
O may she better learn to keep
'Those secrets of the hoary deep'!
As mutton cutlets, prime of meat,
Which, though with art you salt and beat
As laws of cookery require
And toast them at the clearest fire,
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon the cinder drops,
To stinking smoke it turns the flame
Poisoning the flesh from whence it came;
And up exhales a greasy stench
For which you curse the careless wench;
So things which must not be exprest,
When plumpt into the reeking chest,
Send up an excremental smell
To taint the parts from whence they fell,
The petticoats and gown perfume,
Which waft a stink round every room.
Thus finishing his grand survey,
Disgusted Strephon stole away
Repeating in his amorous fits,
Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits!
But vengeance, Goddess never sleeping,
Soon punished Strephon for his peeping:
His foul Imagination links
Each dame he see with all her stinks;
And, if unsavory odors fly,
Conceives a lady standing by.
All women his description fits,
And both ideas jump like wits
By vicious fancy coup
Scheme | Text too long |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110101010 010101010 01010101 1110111 0101001 10010101 11010111 1110101 1010101 01010101 0101111 1010111 011111001 11011111 0111101 0111011 010101010 110111010 01001110010 11111101 11110101 0110101 11010101 010111011 11010101 110101101 0111001001 1111111 0111111 1101011 0111101 110101 11110111 111101 011111 11010101 110100101 0101101 01010101 01010111 11110111 11111110 11101010 1101 11010111 1101101 110011 11010001 110101101 01011101 11011101 11010110 110111010 01110111 11010101 11110101 11011101 01011111 111001 11111111 110101010 01111101 0101011 01000101 11111111 11110101 11110111 1111101 01110101 110111010 111111010 11110101 1111011 01010111 1101010 11110101 01001101 1110110 01111101 11011111 11110101 11010101 11101 0100101 10110101 11110011 11110101 1110101 11100111 0111101 1110101 01010111 01110111 11011101 1101101 11110111 11010101 1101111 11111101 111110 011101010 1110101 01010101 11011101 100011111 0110101 11110101 1111111 11010101 11111 11011111 0100101 110111001 11001101 0101101 010011001 11010101 110101010 11011110 1100101 11111101 010100101 1010101 11010101 01010111 110101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,250 |
Words | 780 |
Sentences | 31 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 126 |
Lines Amount | 126 |
Letters per line (avg) | 27 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 3,457 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 779 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 01, 2023
- 3:58 min read
- 210 Views
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"The Lady's Dressing Room" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/24331/the-lady%27s-dressing-room>.
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