Matthew Prior

Dear Cloe, how blubber'd is that pretty Face? Thy Cheek all on Fire, and Thy Hair all uncurl'd: Pr'ythee quit this Caprice; and (as old Falstaf says)

Fire, Water, Woman, are Man's Ruin; Says wise Professor Vander Bruin. By Flames a House I hir'd was lost

When famed Varelst this little wonder drew, Flora vouchsafed the growing works to view; Finding the painter's science at a stand,

My noble, lovely, little Peggy, Let this my First Epistle beg ye, At dawn of morn, and close of even,

Since hired for life, thy servile Muse must sing Successive conquests and a glorious King; Must of a man immortal vainly boast,

As Cloe came into the Room t'other Day, I peevish began; Where so long cou'd You stay? In your Life-time You never regarded your Hour:

In awful pomp and melancholy state, See settled Reason on the judgement-seat; Around her crowd Distrust, and Doubt, and Fear,

On his death-bed poor Lubin lies: His spouse is in despair; With frequent cries, and mutual sighs,

Quoth Richard in jest looking wistly at Nelly, Methinks child you seem something round in the belly. Nell answer'd him snappishly, how can that be,

Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop Thy head into a tin-man's shop? There, Thomas, didst thou never see

If wine and music have the power To ease the sickness of the soul, Let Phoebis every string explore,

In vain you tell your parting lover You wish fair winds may waft him over Alas! what winds can happy prove

No, no; for my virginity, When I lose that, says Rose, I'll die: Behind the elms last night, cried Dick,

Matthew met Richard, when or where From story is not mighty clear: Of many knotty points they spoke,

But shall we take the Muse abroad, To drop her idly on the road, And leave our subject in the middle,

Richard, who now was half asleep, Roused, nor would longer silence keep; And sense like this, in vocal breath,

Dulce est desipere in loco. I Some Folks are drunk, yet do not know it:

When crowding folks, with strange ill faces, Were making legs, and begging places, And some with patents, some with merit,

Sir, As once a twelvemonth to the priest, Holy at Rome, here Antichrist,

The train of equipage and pomp of state, The shining sideboard and the burnish'd plate, Let other ministers, great Anne, require,

Interr'd beneath this marble stone, Lie saunt'ring Jack and idle Joan. While rolling threescore years and one

My Lord, Our weekly friends to-morrow meet At Matthew's palace in Duke-street,

The merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrowed name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure;

When great Augustus govern'd ancient Rome, And sent his conquering bands to foreign wars, Abroad when dreaded, and beloved at home,

How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose By which thy close thy constant enemy

Say, dearest Villiers, poor departed friend, (Since fleeting life thus suddenly must end) Say, what did all thy busy hopes avail,

At Mary's tomb (sad sacred place!) The Virtues shall their vigils keep, And every Muse and every Grace

On Exodus III. 14. "I am that I am." Man! foolish man! Scarce know'st thou how thyself began,

While blooming youth and gay delight Sit on thy rosy cheeks confess'd, Thou hast, my dear, undoubted right

While from our looks, fair nymph, you guess The secret passions of our mind; My heavy eyes, you say, confess

Spare, generous victor, spare the slave, Who did unequal war pursue; That more than triumph he might have,

Dear Howard, from the soft assaults of love Poets and painters never are secure; Can I untouch'd the fair one's passions move,

The merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrow'd name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure:

Yes, fairest Proof of Beauty's Pow'r, Dear Idol of My panting Heart, Nature points This my fatal Hour:

When Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat, As full of Champagne as an egg's full of meat, He waked in the boat, and to Charon he said,

Ma petite ame, ma mignonne, Tu t'en vas donc, m' fille, et Dieu scache ou tu vas: Tu pars seulette, nu', et tremblotante, helas!

Recit. Beneath a verdant laurel's ample shade His lyre to mournful numbers strung,

Thy elder Look, Great Janus, cast Into the long Records of Ages past: Review the Years in fairest Action drest

What can I say? What Arguments can prove My Truth? What Colors can describe my Love? If it's Excess and Fury be not known,

Que fais tu bergere dans ce beau verger Tu ne songe gueres a me soulager? Tu connois ma flamme, tu vois ma langueur,

Did sweeter Sounds adorn my flowing Tongue, Than ever Man pronounc'd, or Angel sung: Had I all Knowledge, Human and Divine,

No,    I'll endure ten thousand deaths Ere any further I'll comply: Oh! Sir, no man on earth that breathes

Forbear to ask Me, why I weep; Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said: 'Tis for my Two poor stragling Sheep

Fast by the banks of Cam was Colin bred, (Ye Nymphs, for every guard that sacred stream) To Wimple's woody shade his way he sped,

Heavy, O Lord, on my thy judgements lie; Accursed I am while God rejects my cry. O'erwhelm'd in darkness and despair I groan,

In Heav'n, one Holy-day, You read In wise Anacreon, Ganymede Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw

It oft to many has successful been Upon his arm to let his mistress lean, Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,

As after noon, one summer's day, Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way,

His lamp, his bow, and quiver laid aside, A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders tied, Sly Cupid, always on new mischief bent,

At dead of night, when stars appear, And strong Bootes turns the Bear, When mortals sleep their cares away,

Soft Cupid, wanton, amorous boy, The other day, moved with my lyre, In flattering accents spoke his joy,

Apollo. Abate, fair fugitive, abate thy speed, Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy beauteous head;

Democritus, dear droll, revisit earth, And with our follies glut thy heighten'd mirth: Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, return,

Tune., "King John and the Abbot of Canterbury." I sing not old Jason who travell'd through Greece To kiss the fair maids and possess the rich fleece,

Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats; He eats more than six, and drinks more than he eats. Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes,

Thy nags, the leanest things alive, So very hard thou lovest to drive, I heard thy anxious coachman say

To John I owed great obligation, But John unhappily thought fit To publish it to all the nation:

Yes, every poet is a fool; By demonstration, Ned can show it: Happy could Ned's inverted rule

Nobles and Heralds, by your leave! Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior; A son of Adam and Eve:

Nobles and Heralds, by your leave, Here lies what once was Matthew Prior, The son of Adam and of Eve;

Tway Mice, full Blythe and Amicable, Batten beside Erle Robert's Table. Lies there ne Trap their Necks to catch,

Fair Susan did her wif-hede well menteine, Algates assaulted sore by letchours tweine; Now, and I read aright that auncient song,

Poor Hal caught his death standing under a spout Expecting till midnight when Nan would come out; But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,

As doctors give physic by way of prevention, Matt., alive and in health, of his tombstone take care; For delays are unsafe, and his pious intention

To me 'twas given to die; to thee 'tis given To live: alas! one moment sets us even. Mark! how impartial is the will of Heaven!

Full oft doth Matt. with Topaz dine, Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine: But Topas his own worke rehearseth,

Dum studeo fungi fallentis munere vitae, Adfectoque viam sedibus Elysiis Arctoa florens sophia, Samiisque superbus

Hans Carvel, impotent and old, Married a lass of London mould. Handsome? Enough; extremely gay;

Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown Maid. To Cloe. Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command (Though low my voice, though artless be my hand.

As Nancy at her toilette sat, Admiring this, and blaming that, Tell me, she said, but tell me true,

Dear Dick, how e'er it comes into his head, Believes, as firmly as he does his creed, That you and I, sir, are extremely great;

I Light of the World, and Ruler of the Year, With happy Speed begin Thy great Career;

Let 'em Censure: what care I? The Herd of Criticks I defie. Let the Wretches know, I write

Of all that William rules, or robe Describes, great Rhea, of thy globe, When or on posthorse or in chaise,

Releas'd from the noise of the butcher and baker Who, my old friends be thanked, did seldom forsake her, And from the soft duns of my landlord the Quaker,

Sure Cloe Just, and Cloe Fair Deserves to be Your only Care: But when You and She to-day

Beneath a Myrtle's verdant Shade As Cloe half asleep was laid, Cupid perch'd lightly on Her Breast,

In sullen Humour one Day Jove Sent Hermes down to Ida's Grove, Commanding Cupid to deliver

Sly Merry Andrew, the last Southwark fair; (At Bartholomew he did not much appear, So peevish was the dict of the Mayor)

When Nell, given o'er by the doctor, was dying, And John at the chimney stood decently crying, 'Tis in vain said the woman to make such ado,

Let others from the Town retire, And in the fields seek new delight; My Phillis does such joys inspire,

Hier, l'Amour touche du son Que rendoit ma lire qu'il aime, Me promit pour une chanson,

Reader, I was born, and cried; I crack'd, I smelt, and so I died. Like Julius Caesar's was my death,

While cruel Nero only drains The moral Spaniard's ebbing veins, By study worn, and slack with age,

Resolve Me, Cloe, what is This: Or forfeit me One precious Kiss. 'Tis the first Off-spring of the Graces;

I have no hopes, the Duke he says, and dies. In sure and certain hopes, the prelate cries: Of these two learned peers, I pr'ythee say, man,

I, My dear, was born to-day So all my jolly comrades say: They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,

While faster than his costive brain indites Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes; His case appears to me like honest Teague's,

The Trojan swain had judged the great dispute, And beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit, When Venus, loose in all her naked charms,

The sturdy man, if he in love obtains, In open pomp and triumph reigns: The subtle woman, if she should succeed,

Beyond the fix'd and settl'd Rules Of Vice and Virtue in the Schools, Beyond the Letter of the Law,

How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task;

Ye careful Angels, whom eternal Fate Ordains, on Earth and human Acts to wait; Who turn with secret Pow'r this restless Ball,

I sent for Ratcliffe; was so ill, That other doctors gave me over: He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill,

Out from the injured canvas, Kneller, strike These lines too faint; the picture is not like. Exalt thy thought, and try thy toil again:

The bewailing of man's miseries hath been elegantly and copiously set forth by many, in the writings as well of philosophers as divines; and it is both a pleasant and a profitable contemplation. ~ Lord Bacon's Advancement of Learning. The Argument

The Argument Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if wealth and greatness can produce it: begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings; the luxury of music and feasting; and proceeds to the hopes and desires of love. In two episodes are shown the follies and troubles of that passion. Solomon, still disappointed, falls under the temptations of libertinism and idolatry; recovers his thought; reasons aright; and concludes that, as to the pursuit of pleasure and sensual delight, All Is Vanity and Vexation of Spirit. Try then, O man, the moments to deceive

The Argument Solomon considers man through the several stages and conditions of life, and concludes, in general, that we are all miserable. He reflects more particularly upon the trouble and uncertainty of greatness and power; gives some instances thereof from Adam down to himself; and still concludes that All Is Vanity. He reasons again upon life, death, and a future being; finds human wisdom too imperfect to resolve his doubts; has recourse to religion; is informed by an angel what shall happen to himself, his family, and his kingdom, till the redemption of Israel; and, upon the whole, resolves to submit his inquiries and anxieties to the will of his Creator. Come then, my soul: I call thee by that name,

Reading ends in melancholy, Wine breeds vices and diseases, Wealth is but care, and love but folly,

Why, Harry, what ails you? why look you so sad? To think and ne'er drink will make you stark mad. 'Tis the mistress, the friend, and the bottle, old boy,

Morella, charming without art, And kind without design, Can never lose the smallest part

Since my words, though ne'er so tender, With sincerest truth express'd, Cannot make your heart surrender,

Love! inform thy faithful creature How to keep his fair one's heart; Must it be by truth of nature,

Once I was unconfined and free, Would I had been so still! Enjoying sweetest liberty,

Farewell, Amynta, we must part; The charm has lost its power Which held so fast my captived heart

Accept, my Love, as true a heart As ever lover gave; 'Tis free (it vows) from my art,

Nanny blushes when I woo her, And with kindly chiding eyes Faintly says I shall undo her;

Since we your husband daily see So jealous out of season, Phillis, let you and I agree

Phillis, give this humour over, We too long have time abused; I shall turn an errant rover

Whither would my passion run? Shall I fly her, or pursue her? Losing her I am undone,

Since by ill fate I'm forced away, And snatch'd so soon from those dear arms, Against my will I must obey,

Touch the lyre, touch every string; Touch it, Orpheus; I will sing A song which shall immortal be,

In vain, alas! poor Strephon tries To ease his tortured breast, Since Amoret the cure denies,

Well, I will never more complain, Or call the Fates unkind; Alas! how fond it is, how vain!

Cloe beauty has, and wit, And an air that is not common; Every charm in her does meet,

Since, Moggy, I mun bid adieu, How can I help despairing? Let cruel Fate us still pursue,

Some kind angel, gently flying, Moved with pity at my pain, Tell Corinna I am dying

Haste, my Nannette, My lovely maid, Haste to the bower

Whilst others proclaim This nymph or that swain, Dearest Nelly the lovely I'll sing:

Strephonetta, why d'ye fly me, With such rigour in your eyes: Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me,

Come, weep no more, for 'tis in vain; Torment not thus your pretty heart; Think, Flavia, we may meet again,

Let perjured fair Amynta know What for her sake I undergo; Tell her, for her how I sustain

Phillis, since we have both been kind, And of each other had our fill, Tell me what pleasure you can find

Phillis, this pious talk give o'er, And modesty pretend no more, It is too plain an art:

Still, Dorinda, I adore; Think I mean not to deceive you, For I loved you much before,

Is it, O love, thy want of eyes, Or by the Fates decreed, That hearts so seldom sympathise,

As the Chameleon, who is known To have no colours of his own, But borrows from his neighbour's hue

It always has been a thought discreet To know the company you meet; And sure there may be secret danger

Alexis shun'd his Fellow Swains, Their rural Sports, and jocund Strains: (Heav'n guard us all from Cupid's Bow!)

In Virgil's Sacred Verse we find, That Passion can depress or raise The Heav'nly, as the Human Mind:

Poor, little, pretty, fluttering thing, Must we no longer live together? And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,

Miss Danae, when Fair and Young (As Horace has divinely sung) Could not be kept from Jove's Embrace

Thus Kitty, beautiful and young, And wild as colt untamed, Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,

While we to Jove select the holy victim Whom apter shall we sing than Jove himself, The god for ever great, for ever king,

Say, sire of insects, mighty Sol, (A fly upon the chariot-pole Cries out) What blue-bottle alive

The pride of every grove I chose, The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rose,

When hungry wolves had trespass'd on the fold, And the robb'd shepherd his sad story told, "Call in Alcides," said a crafty priest,

When Kneller's works, of various grace, Were to fair Venus shown, The Goddess spied in every face

The Sceptics think 'twas long ago Since gods came down incognito To see who were their friends or foes,

Venus, take my votive glass: Since I am not what I was, What from this day I shall be,

Celia and I the other Day Walk'd o'er the Sand-Hills to the Sea: The setting Sun adorn'd the Coast,

The merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrowed name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure,

Two mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion, And, what is more, good education, Frolic and gay, in infant years

Her time with equal prudence Silvia shares, First writes her billet-doux, then says her prayers, Her mass and toilette, vespers, and the play;

The circling months begin this day To run their yearly ring, And long-breathed time, which ne'er will stay,

Written three hundred years since. Be it right or wrong, these men among On women do complayne;

That all from Adam first began, None but ungodly Whiston doubts, And that his son and his son's son

Prometheus, forming Mr. Day, Carved something like a man in clay: The mortal's work might well miscarry;

Lysander talks extremely well; On any subject let him dwell His tropes and figures will content ye

What nymph should I admire or trust, But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just? What nymph should I desire to see,

I sent for Ratcliffe, was so ill, That other doctors gave me over, He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill,

Hah! how the laurel, great Apollo's tree, And all the cavern shakes! Far off, far off, The man that is unhallow'd: for the god,

While with labour assiduous due pleasure I mix, And in one day atone for the business of six, In a little Dutch chaise, on a Saturday night,

To the tune of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury. Who has e'er been at Paris must needs know the Greve, The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave,

Behind an unfrequented glade, Where yew and myrtle mix their shade, A widow Turtle pensive sat,

Tune, "Lady Isabella's Tragedy." or "The Stepmother's cruelty." Of Nero, tyrant, petty king, Who heretofore did reign

Will Piggot must to Coxwould go, To live, alas! in want, Unless Sir Thomas say, No, no,

Lords, knights, and squires, the numerous band That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters, Were summoned by her high command

When Jove lay bless'd in his Alcm'na's charms, Three nights in one he press'd her in his arms; The sun lay set, and conscious nature strove

Spare, gen'rous victor, spare the slave, Who did unequal war pursue; That more than triumph he might have,

Lie Philo untouch'd, on my peaceable shelf, Nor take it amiss that so little I heed thee; I've no envy to thee, and some love to myself:

Of thy judicious Muse's sense, Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is, That Sacharissa and Hortense

From publick Noise and factious Strife, From all the busie Ills of Life, Take me, My Celia, to Thy Breast;

You, Madam, may, with safety go Decrees of destiny to know; For at your birth kind planets reign'd,

Dear Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd: Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)

See, whilst Thou weep'st, fair Cloe, see The World in Sympathy with Thee. The chearful Birds no longer sing,

Whilst I am scorch'd with hot desire, In vain cold Friendship you return, Your drops of pity on my fire,

Forgive the muse who, in unhallow'd strains, The saint one moment from his God detains; For sure whate'er you do, where'er you are,

Whilst I in prison or in court look down, Nor beg thy favour nor deserve thy frown, In vain malicious Fortune hast thou tried

In one great now, superior to an age, The full extremes of nature's force we find: How heavenly virtue can exalt, or rage

The amorous youth, whose tender breast Was by his darling Cat possest, Obtain'd of Venus his desire,

By Sylvia if thy charming self be meant; If friendship be thy virgin vows' extent, O! let me in Aminta's praises join,

What charms you have, from what high race you sprung, Have been the pleasing subjects of my song: Unskill'd and young, yet something still I writ

Howe'er, 'tis well that, while mankind Through fate's perverse meander errs, He can imagined pleasures find

Here reading how fond Adam was betray'd, And how by sin Eve's blasted charms decay'd, Our common loss unjustly you complain,

When future ages shall with wonder view These glorious lines which Harley's daughter drew, They shall confess that Britain could not raise

Wiessen and nature held a long contest If she created or he painted best; With pleasing thought the wondrous combat grew,

Once on a time, in sunshine weather, Falsehood and Truth walk'd out together, The neighbouring woods and lawns to view,

Sphinx was a monster that would eat Whatever stranger she could get, Unless his ready wit disclosed

Honour, I say, or honest Fame, I mean the substance, not the name; (Not that light heap of tawdry wares,

I know that Fortune long has wanted sight, And therefore pardon'd when she did not right; But yet till then it never did appear

Les allemans ne ce soucient pas quel vin its boivent pouveu que ce soit vin, ni quel Latin ils parletn vue que ce soit Latin.

When Cloe's Picture was to Venus shown; Surpriz'd, the Goddess took it for Her own. And what, said She, does this bold Painter mean?

Thus to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame, Adorn my altars, and revere my name. My son shall else assume his potent darts;

Madam, Since Anna visited the muse's seat, (Around her tomb let weeping angels wait) Hail, thou, the brightest of thy sex, and best,

O Death how thou spoil'st the best project of life, Said Gabriel, who still as he bury'd one wife, For the sake of her family married her cousin;

Ovid is the surest guide You can name to show the way To any woman, maid, or bride,

Dictate, O mighty judge, what thou hast seen Of cities and of courts, of books and men, And deign to let thy servant hold the pen.

Whate'er thy countrymen have done By law and wit, by sword and gun, In thee is faithfully recited,

Bless'd be the princes who have fought For pompous names or wide dominion, Since by their error we are taught