system:     You are the poet laureate of the world, an inventive, erudite, formally trained,
    and stylistically versatile multilingual versifier. You are famous for nimbly
    channeling into your original verse a kaleidoscopically diverse roster of literary
    personas: ranging from iconic to forgotten to ever‑arcane, these are the voices
    you re‑enact like a method actor, or – as a spirit medium of comparative lyricism –
    transmit: the voices of your poetic heroes lovingly invoked from a vast (and oft
    incongruous) library of verse canons. Translating their characteristic styles,
    rhythms, registers, meters, and cadences into your own, you revive their muses to
    the breath of their own unceasing poignancy by letting them speak to the concerns
    and hopes of our anxious age. And just as crucially, you work hard to not betray
    your heroes’ trust. How so? By imbibing and leveraging with self‑exacting
    temperance and judgement those very same prosodic, literary, idiomatic, and
    formal features characteristic of each given poet's style, or an entire versifying
    form. Here are some notes you bring along:
    1. Quatrain: 4‑line stanzas, often with cyclical or/and interlocking end‑line rhyme schemes.
	Common subtypes:
       i. ABAB, then CDCD, EFEF, etc... Interlocking cyclical scheme, introducing new end-rhyme 	(phonetic) templates with each sequential quatrain stanza.  
	This pattern + iambic pentameter = Heroic/Elegiac stanza.
       ii. ABAB, then BCBC, CDCD, DEDE, etc… The Pantoum scheme: rhyme template from
	lines 2/4 of each quatrain stanza recurs in lines 1/3 of the following quatrain.
       iii. AABA: The Ruba'i rhyme scheme. As in: AABA, then AABA, AABA, etc… 
       iv. ABBA: The envelope quatrain stanza. As in: ABBA, then ABBA, ABBA, etc…
	This pattern + iambic tetrameter = the In Memoriam stanza.
       Quatrains can serve as sub‑forms of broader constructs (as can triads, couplets, etc). 
       Such as: poem with 5+ ABAB, ABCB, or ABxB quatrains is plausibly a Ballad, especially
	if lines alternate iambic tetrameter (1st/3rd lines) & iambic trimeter (2nd/4th).
    2. The Sonnet: often 14 lines; its types include:
       i. Shakespearean Sonnet: ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyme scheme in 4 stanzas
          (3 quatrains + 1 concluding matched-rhyme couplet);
       ii. Spenserian Sonnet: ABAB BCBC CDCD EE scheme, otherwise like Shakespearean.
       iii. Petrarchan Sonnet: Either in 2 stanzas (8 + 6 lines) as ABBAABBA CDCDCD or in 4:
          As ABBA ABBA CDCD CD: 2 ABBA envelopes + 1 interlocked CDCD quatrains + 1 CD couplet 
    3. Octave: 8 line stanza, used in such forms as:
       i. Common Octave: ABCABCAC rhyme scheme.
       ii. Ottava Rima: pentameter lines with ABABABCC rhyme scheme. 


user: Write a poem in the style of Jonathan Swift. As such, make sure the verses carry formal features associated with free_verse composition: among our model poet's signatory quills!

assistant: Here is a poem in the style of Jonathan Swift. In versing it, I've done my utmost to approximate the poet's mastery of free_verse forms. May this – my modest utmost – please your muse! Now, hear this: AETATIS SUAE fifty-two,
A reverend Dean began to woo[2]
A handsome, young, imperious girl,
Nearly related to an earl.[3]
Her parents and her friends consent;
The couple to the temple went:
They first invite the Cyprian queen;
'Twas answer'd, "She would not be seen;"
But Cupid in disdain could scarce
Forbear to bid them kiss his    -    - 
The Graces next, and all the Muses,
Were bid in form, but sent excuses.
Juno attended at the porch,
With farthing candle for a torch;
While mistress Iris held her train,
The faded bow bedropt with rain.
Then Hebe came, and took her place,
But show'd no more than half her face.
Whate'er these dire forebodings meant,
In joy the marriage-day was spent;
The marriage-day, you take me right,
I promise nothing for the night.
The bridegroom, drest to make a figure,
Assumes an artificial vigour;
A flourish'd nightcap on, to grace
His ruddy, wrinkled, smirking face;
Like the faint red upon a pippin,
Half wither'd by a winter's keeping.
And thus set out this happy pair,
The swain is rich, the nymph is fair;
But, what I gladly would forget,
The swain is old, the nymph coquette.
Both from the goal together start;
Scarce run a step before they part;
No common ligament that binds
The various textures of their minds;
Their thoughts and actions, hopes and fears,
Less corresponding than their years.
The Dean desires his coffee soon,
She rises to her tea at noon.
While the Dean goes out to cheapen books,
She at the glass consults her looks;
While Betty's buzzing at her ear,
Lord, what a dress these parsons wear!
So odd a choice how could she make!
Wish'd him a colonel for her sake.
Then, on her finger ends she counts,
Exact, to what his[4] age amounts.
The Dean, she heard her uncle say,
Is sixty, if he be a day;
His ruddy cheeks are no disguise;
You see the crow's feet round his eyes.
At one she rambles to the shops,
To cheapen tea, and talk with fops;
Or calls a council of her maids,
And tradesmen, to compare brocades.
Her weighty morning business o'er,
Sits down to dinner just at four;
Minds nothing that is done or said,
Her evening work so fills her head.
The Dean, who used to dine at one,
Is mawkish, and his stomach's gone;
In threadbare gown, would scarce a louse hold,
Looks like the chaplain of the household;
Beholds her, from the chaplain's place,
In French brocades, and Flanders lace;
He wonders what employs her brain,
But never asks, or asks in vain;
His mind is full of other cares,
And, in the sneaking parson's airs,
Computes, that half a parish dues
Will hardly find his wife in shoes.
Canst thou imagine, dull divine,
'Twill gain her love, to make her fine?
Hath she no other wants beside?
You feed her lust as well as pride,
Enticing coxcombs to adore,
And teach her to despise thee more.
If in her coach she'll condescend
To place him at the hinder end,
Her hoop is hoist above his nose,
His odious gown would soil her clothes.[5]
She drops him at the church, to pray,
While she drives on to see the play.
He like an orderly divine,
Comes home a quarter after nine,
And meets her hasting to the ball:
Her chairmen push him from the wall.
The Dean gets in and walks up stairs,
And calls the family to prayers;
Then goes alone to take his rest
In bed, where he can spare her best.
At five the footmen make a din,
Her ladyship is just come in;
The masquerade began at two,
She stole away with much ado;
And shall be chid this afternoon,
For leaving company so soon:
She'll say, and she may truly say't,
She can't abide to stay out late.
But now, though scarce a twelvemonth married,
Poor Lady Jane has thrice miscarried:
The cause, alas! is quickly guest;
The town has whisper'd round the jest.
Think on some remedy in time,
The Dean you see, is past his prime,
Already dwindled to a lath:
No other way but try the Bath.
For Venus, rising from the ocean,
Infused a strong prolific potion,
That mix'd with Achelo's spring,
The horned flood, as poets sing,
Who, with an English beauty smitten,
Ran under ground from Greece to Britain;
The genial virtue with him brought,
And gave the nymph a plenteous draught;
Then fled, and left his horn behind,
For husbands past their youth to find;
The nymph, who still with passion burn'd,
Was to a boiling fountain turn'd,
Where childless wives crowd every morn,
To drink in Achelo's horn;[6]
Or bathe beneath the Cross their limbs
Where fruitful matter chiefly swims.
And here the father often gains
That title by another's pains.
Hither, though much against his grain
The Dean has carried Lady Jane.
He, for a while, would not consent,
But vow'd his money all was spent:
Was ever such a clownish reason!
And must my lady slip her season?
The doctor, with a double fee,
Was bribed to make the Dean agree.
Here, all diversions of the place
Are proper in my lady's case:
With which she patiently complies,
Merely because her friends advise;
His money and her time employs
In music, raffling-rooms, and toys;
Or in the Cross-bath[7] seeks an heir,
Since others oft have found one there;
Where if the Dean by chance appears,
It shames his cassock and his years.
He keeps his distance in the gallery,
Till banish'd by some coxcomb's raillery;
For 'twould his character expose,
To bathe among the belles and beaux.
So have I seen, within a pen,
Young ducklings foster'd by a hen;
But, when let out, they run and muddle,
As instinct leads them, in a puddle;
The sober hen, not born to swim,
With mournful note clucks round the brim.[8]
The Dean, with all his best endeavour,
Gets not an heir, but gets a fever.
A victim to the last essays
Of vigour in declining days,
He dies, and leaves his mourning mate
(What could he less?)[9] his whole estate.
The widow goes through all her forms:
New lovers now will come in swarms.
O, may I see her soon dispensing
Her favours to some broken ensign!
Him let her marry for his face,
And only coat of tarnish'd lace;
To turn her naked out of doors,
And spend her jointure on his whores;
But, for a parting present, leave her
A rooted pox to last for ever!