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D., was issued by John Lane, in 1898. The punctuation of the original by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis

Percy Bysshe Shelley

A young Shelley pens a whimsical, meandering poem about the struggle of putting thoughts on paper in a coherent way.

The poem
edition is here retained.] A Person complained that whenever he began to write, he never could arrange his ideas in grammatical order. Which occasion suggested the idea of the following lines: 1. Here I sit with my paper, my pen and my ink, First of this thing, and that thing, and t’other thing think; Then my thoughts come so pell-mell all into my mind, That the sense or the subject I never can find: This word is wrong placed,—no regard to the sense, The present and future, instead of past tense, Then my grammar I want; O dear! what a bore, I think I shall never attempt to write more, With patience I then my thoughts must arraign, Have them all in due order like mutes in a train, _10 Like them too must wait in due patience and thought, Or else my fine works will all come to nought. My wit too’s so copious, it flows like a river, But disperses its waters on black and white never; Like smoke it appears independent and free, _15 But ah luckless smoke! it all passes like thee— Then at length all my patience entirely lost, My paper and pens in the fire are tossed; But come, try again—you must never despair, Our Murray’s or Entick’s are not all so rare, _20 Implore their assistance—they’ll come to your aid, Perform all your business without being paid, They’ll tell you the present tense, future and past, Which should come first, and which should come last, This Murray will do—then to Entick repair, _25 To find out the meaning of any word rare. This they friendly will tell, and ne’er make you blush, With a jeering look, taunt, or an O fie! tush! Then straight all your thoughts in black and white put, Not minding the if’s, the be’s, and the but, _30 Then read it all over, see how it will run, How answers the wit, the retort, and the pun, Your writings may then with old Socrates vie, May on the same shelf with Demosthenes lie, May as Junius be sharp, or as Plato be sage. _35 The pattern or satire to all of the age; But stop—a mad author I mean not to turn, Nor with thirst of applause does my heated brain burn, Sufficient that sense, wit, and grammar combined, My letters may make some slight food for the mind; _40 That my thoughts to my friends I may freely impart, In all the warm language that flows from the heart. Hark! futurity calls! it loudly complains, It bids me step forward and just hold the reins, My excuse shall be humble, and faithful, and true, _45 Such as I fear can be made but by few— Of writers this age has abundance and plenty, Three score and a thousand, two millions and twenty, Three score of them wits who all sharply vie, To try what odd creature they best can belie, _50 A thousand are prudes who for CHARITY write, And fill up their sheets with spleen, envy, and spite[,] One million are bards, who to Heaven aspire, And stuff their works full of bombast, rant, and fire, T’other million are wags who in Grubstreet attend, _55 And just like a cobbler the old writings mend, The twenty are those who for pulpits indite, And pore over sermons all Saturday night. And now my good friends—who come after I mean, As I ne’er wore a cassock, or dined with a dean. _60 Or like cobblers at mending I never did try, Nor with poets in lyrics attempted to vie; As for prudes these good souls I both hate and detest, So here I believe the matter must rest.— I’ve heard your complaint—my answer I’ve made, _65 And since to your calls all the tribute I’ve paid, Adieu my good friend; pray never despair, But grammar and sense and everything dare, Attempt but to write dashing, easy, and free, Then take out your grammar and pay him his fee, _70 Be not a coward, shrink not to a tense, But read it all over and make it out sense. What a tiresome girl!—pray soon make an end, Else my limited patience you’ll quickly expend. Well adieu, I no longer your patience will try— _75 So swift to the post now the letter shall fly.

Public domain · sourced from Project Gutenberg

Quick summary
A young Shelley pens a whimsical, meandering poem about the struggle of putting thoughts on paper in a coherent way. He navigates the chaotic journey — from a scrambled mind to grammar guides to picturing his writing alongside Plato — before jovially acknowledging that he's just one tiny voice in a loud sea of writers. The poem wraps up with a playful nudge: don’t overanalyze; write freely first, then tidy it up later.
Themes

Line-by-line

Here I sit with my paper, my pen and my ink, / First of this thing, and that thing, and t'other thing think;
The opening stanza captures the scene with a humorous touch. The speaker sits down to write and quickly encounters a familiar obstacle: thoughts flood in all at once, completely jumbled, and the more you try to catch them, the more entangled they become. The lively, bouncing rhythm—almost reminiscent of a nursery rhyme—reflects the chaos being portrayed. By line 10, the proposed solution is patience: arrange your thoughts like a line of servants before allowing them onto the page.
My wit too's so copious, it flows like a river, / But disperses its waters on black and white never;
Here, the speaker gets a bit self-deprecating. He insists that the wit is present — it just doesn't seem to come through on the page. The river metaphor is amusing because a river that never reaches the sea serves no purpose, and the smoke comparison that follows makes a similar point: it's brilliant and free, yet disappears before anyone can grasp it. The stanza wraps up with the dramatic act of tossing paper and pens into the fire, a gesture that any frustrated writer will relate to.
But come, try again—you never must despair, / Our Murray's or Entick's are not all so rare,
The tone changes from despair to practical encouragement. Murray's *English Grammar* and Entick's *Dictionary* were the go-to reference books of the time, and the speaker suggests them like a helpful tutor. The humor lies in the idea that these books will support you without any judgment — no sneering expressions, no sarcastic *'O fie! tush!'* The stanza wraps up with a playful fantasy: stick to the rules, and your writing could find its place on the same shelf as Socrates, Demosthenes, or Plato.
But stop—a mad author I mean not to turn, / Nor with thirst of applause does my heated brain burn,
Just as the poem appears to be striving for literary greatness, the speaker takes a step back. Fame isn't the goal here. Instead, the true aim is simple and heartfelt: clarity, a touch of humor, and the ability to write honestly to friends. This shift from lofty classical references to straightforward personal communication is the emotional core of the poem.
Hark! futurity calls! it loudly complains, / It bids me step forward and just hold the reins,
The speaker envisions future generations questioning why she (the voice feels female, likely representing the friend being addressed or a persona) didn't write more. The reply comes in the form of a humorous overview of the literary scene: the world is already flooded with writers—wits, prudes, flamboyant poets, Grub Street hacks, and sermon-writers. This list is satirical, playfully mocking every type of writer that emerged during the era.
And now my good friends—who come after I mean, / As I ne'er wore a cassock, or dined with a dean.
The speaker rules herself out of every category mentioned. She’s not a clergyman, a cobbler-mender of ancient texts, a lyric poet, or a prude. The tone is light and self-aware. By excluding herself from these established roles, she creates a modest space for herself: someone who simply wants to write in a clear and warm manner.
I've heard your complaint—my answer I've made, / And since to your calls all the tribute I've paid,
The poem concludes its frame story, which was originally a reply to a friend who struggled with writing. The core advice is simple: be brave, write without restraint, and then revisit your work to correct the grammar. In the last lines, a second voice emerges (or the speaker realizes her own limits), calling the poem tedious and insisting it wrap up. This creates a clever meta-joke about the challenge of knowing when to stop writing.

Tone & mood

Light, self-deprecating, and truly warm. The poem doesn’t hold onto seriousness for long, often undercutting itself with a joke after just a couplet. Beneath the humor lies genuine affection — for the friend being addressed, for the writing process, and even for the grammar books being suggested. The lively anapestic rhythm gives a sense of spontaneity, which is a clever choice for a poem that tackles the challenges of being spontaneous in writing.

Symbols & metaphors

  • The riverWit that flows freely but never quite makes it to the page. The image reflects the struggle between having ideas and expressing them — all that energy spreading out aimlessly instead of carving a clear path.
  • SmokeThoughts that seem free and independent vanish before they can be captured. Smoke may look striking but leaves no trace, much like unwritten ideas.
  • Murray's and Entick'sThe grammar book and the dictionary are essential tools for writing—patient, non-judgmental resources that quietly help transform raw ideas into clear prose. They feel like supportive friends who never make you feel less than capable.
  • The fireThe frustrated writer's urge to obliterate their work instead of refining it. Throwing paper and pens into the fire marks a dramatic low point before the poem shifts to a more uplifting tone.
  • The shelf with Socrates and PlatoLiterary immortality is presented as a humorous fantasy. The speaker introduces the concept of lasting greatness but quickly undercuts it — that's not the real aim in this case.

Historical context

This poem was likely written when Shelley was still a child or a young teenager, long before the visionary ideas found in *Prometheus Unbound* or *Ode to the West Wind*. It was published after his death in 1898 as part of a collection edited by John Lane, and its youthful, humorous tone sets it apart from Shelley's later works. The poem belongs to a long tradition of verse epistles—friendly, conversational poems presented as letters—that dates back through Alexander Pope to Horace. References to Murray's *English Grammar* (first published in 1795) and Entick's *Dictionary* (1764) firmly place it in the late eighteenth-century classroom. "Grub Street" was the London street known for hack writing, and "Junius" refers to the anonymous political pamphleteer whose sharp letters made waves in the 1770s. Overall, the poem feels like a true piece of juvenilia: lively, amusing, and not yet focused on changing the world.

FAQ

The poem is written for a friend who expressed difficulty in organizing their thoughts while writing. Shelley takes that complaint and turns it into a humorous piece of advice, presented as a verse letter. The identity of the friend remains unknown.

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