Who maketh oft propos full queint, 10
Laugh’d jocund, and aloud he cried,
To Matthew seated on t’ oth’ side;
To thee, lean bard, it doth partain
To understand these creatures tweine.
Come frame us now some clean device,
Or playsant rhime on yonder mice:
They seem, God shield me, Mat and Charles.
Bad as Sir Topaz, or squire Quarles,
(Matthew did for the nonce reply)
At emblem, or device am I: 20
But could I chaunt, or rhyme, pardie,
Clear as Dan Chaucer, or as thee,
Ne verse from me (so God me shrive)
On mouse, or other beast alive.
Certes, I have these many days
Sent myne poetic herd to graze.
Ne armed knight ydrad in war
With lyon fierce will I compare:
Ne judge unjust, with furred fox,
Harming in secret guise the flocks: 30
Ne priest unworth of goddess coat,
To swine ydrunk, or filthy stoat.
Elk similè farewell for aye,
From elephant, I trow, to flea.
Reply’d the friendlike peer, I weene,
Matthew is angred on the spleen.
Ne so, quoth Mat ne shall be e’er,
With wit that falleth all so fair:
Eftsoons, well weet ye, mine intent
Boweth to your commaundement. 40
If by these creatures ye have seen,
Pourtrayed Charles and Matthew been,
Behoveth neet to wreck my brain,
The rest in order to explain.
That cup-board, where the mice disport,
I liken to St. Stephen’s Court:
Therein is space enough, I trow,
For elke comrade to come and goe:
And therein eke may both be fed
With shiver of the wheaten bread. 50
And when, as these mine eyne survey,
They cease to skip, and squeak, and play;
Return they may to different cells,
Auditing one, whilst t’other tells.
Dear Robert, quoth the Saint, whose mind,
In bounteous deed no mean can bind;
Now as I hope to grow devout,
I deem this matter well made out.
Laugh I, whilst thus I serious pray?
Let that be wrought which Mat doth say: 60
Yea, quoth the Erie, but not to-day.
IN THE SAME STYLE.
FULL oft doth Mat with Topaz dine,
Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine;
But Topaz his own werke rehearseth;
And Mat mote praise what Topaz verseth.
Now sure as priest did e’er shrive sinner,
Full hardly eameth Mat his dinner.
IN THE SAME STYLE.
FAIR Susan did her wif-hede well menteine:
Algates assaulted sore by letchours tweine:
Now, and I read aright that auncient song,
Olde were the paramours, the dame full yong.
Had thilke same tale in other guise been tolde;
Had they been yong (pardie) and she been olde;
That, by St. Kit, had wrought much sorer tryal;
Full merveillous, I wote, were swilk denyal.
A FLOWER PAINTED BY SIMON VARELST.
WHEN fam’d Varelst this little wonder
Flora vouchsaf’d the growing work to
Finding the painter’s science at a stand,
The goddess snatch’d the pencil from his hand;
And finishing the piece, she smiling said,
Behold one work of mine, that ne’er shall fade.
TO THE LADY ELIZABETH HARLEY, SINCE MARCHIONESS OF CARMARTHEN, ON A COLUMN OF HER DRAWING.
WHEN future ages shall with wonder view
These glorious lines, which Harley’s daughter drew,
They shall confess, that Britain could not raise
A fairer column to the father’s praise.
PROTOGENES AND APELLES.
WHEN poets wrote, and painters drew,
As nature pointed out the view;
Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece,
To spoil the well-proportion’d piece;
And in our verse ere monkish rhymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes;
Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes
Those knights had fix’d their dull abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor car’d to pray, nor dar’d to fight; 10
Protogenes, historians note,
Liv’d there, a burgess, scot and lot;
And, as old Pliny’s writings show,
Apelles did the same at Co.
Agreed these points of time and place,
Proceed we in the present case.
Piqued by Protogenes’s fame,
From Co to Rhodes Apelles came,
To see a rival and a friend,
Prepar’d to censure, or commend; 20
Here to absolve, and there object,
As art with candour might direct.
He sails, he lands, he comes, he rings;
His servants follow with the things:
Appears the governante of th’ house;
(For such in Greece were much in use:)
If young or handsome, yea or no,
Concerns not me or thee to know.
Does squire Protogenes live here?
Yes, sir, says she, with gracious air, 30
And court’sy low; but just call’d out
By lords peculiarly devout,
Who came on purpose, sir, to borrow
Our Venus, for the feast to-morrow
To grace the church: ’tis Venus’ day:
I hope, sir, you intend to stay,
To see our Venus: ’tis the piece
The most renown’d throughout all Greece,
So like the original, they say:
But I have no great skill that way. 40
But, sir, at six (’tis now past three)
Dromo must make my master’s tea:
At six, sir, if you please to come,
You’ll find my master, sir, at home.
Tea, says a critic, big with laughter,
Was found some twenty ages after;
Authors, before they write, should read;
’Tis very true; but we’ll proceed.
And, sir, at present will you please
To leave your name? — Fair maiden, yes. 50
Reach me that board. No sooner spoke
But done. With one judicious stroke,
On the plain ground Apelles drew
A circle regularly true;
And will you please, sweetheart, said he,
To show your master this from me?
By it he presently will know,
How painters write their names at Co.
He gave the pannel to the maid.
Smiling and court’sying, sir, she said, 60
I shall not fail to tell my master:
And, sir, for fear of all disaster,
I’ll keep it my ownself: safe bind,
Says the old proverb, and safe find.
So, sir, as sure as key or lock —
Your servant, sir — at six o’clock.
Again at six Apelles came,
Found the same prating civil dame.
Sir, that my master has been here,
Will by the board itself appear. 70
If from the perfect line he found,
He has presum’d to swell the round,
Or colours on the draught to lay,
’Tis thus (he order’d me to say)
Thus write the painters of this isle:
Let those of Co remark the style.
She said; and to his hand restor’d
The rival pledge, the missive board.
Upon the happy line were laid
; Such obvious light, and easy shade, 80
That Paris’ apple stood confess
Or Leda’s egg, or Cloe’s breast.
Apelles view’d the finish’d piece:
And live, said he, the arts of Greece!
Howe’er Protogenes and I
May in our rival talents vie!
Howe’er our works may have express’d
Who truest drew, or colour’d best,
When he beheld my flowing line,
He found at least I could design: 90
And from his artful round, I grant,
That he with perfect skill can paint.
The dullest genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my tale:
That the distinguish’d part of men,
With compass, pencil, sword, or pen,
Should in life’s visit leave their name,
In characters, which may proclaim,
That they with ardour strove to raise
At once their arts, and country’s praise; 100
And in their working took great care,
That all was full, and round, and fair.
DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.
DEMOCRITUS, dear droll, revisit earth, our — heighten’d
Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, return,
In louder grief our greater crimes to mourn.
Between you both I unconcern’d stand by;
Hurt, can I laugh? and honest, need I cry?
FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE.
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!
GUALTERUS DANISTONUS AD AMICOS.
DUM studeo fungi fallentis munere vitœ,
Adfectoque viam sedibus Elysiis,
Arctoa florens Sophiâ, Samiisque superbus
Discipulis, animas morte carere cano.
Has ego corporibus profugas ad sidera mitto;
Sideraque ingressis otia blanda dico.;
Qualia conveniunt divis, queis fata volebant
Vitai faciles molliter ire vias:
Vinaque Ccelicolis media inter gaudia, libo;
Et me quid majus suspicor esse viro. 10
Sed fuerint nulli forsan, quos spondeo, coeli;
Nullaque sint Ditis numina, nulla Jovis:
Fabula sit terris agitur quæ vita relictis;
Quique superstes, homo: qui nihil, esto Deus.
Attamen esse hilares, et inanes mittere curas
Proderit, ac vitæ commoditate frui,
Et festos agitasse dies, ævique fugacis
Tempora perpetuis detinuisse jocis.
His me parentum prœceptis occupet Orcus,
Et Mors; seu Divum, seu nihil esse velit; 20
Nam Sophia ars ilia est, quæ fallere suaviter horas
Admonet, atque Orci non timuisse minas.
IMITATED.
STUDIOUS the busy moments to deceive,
That fleet between the cradle and the grave,
I credit what the Grecian dictates say,
And Samian sounds o’er Scotia’s hills convey.
When mortal man resigns his transient breath,
The body only I give o’er to death;
The parts dissolv’d and broken frame I mourn:
What came from earth I see to earth return.
The immaterial part, the ethereal soul,
Nor can change vanquish, nor can death control.
Glad I release it from its partner’s cares, 11
And bid good angels waft it to the stars.
Then in the flowing bowl I drown those sighs,
Which, spite of wisdom, from our weakness rise.
The draught to the dead’s memory I commend,
And offer to the now immortal friend.
But if oppos’d to what my thoughts approve,
Nor Pluto’s rage there be, nor Power of Jove;
On its dark side if thou the prospect take;
Grant all forgot beyond black Lethe’s lake: 21
In total death suppose the mortal lie,
No new hereafter, nor a future sky:
Yet bear thy lot content! yet cease to grieve:
Why, ere death comes, dost thou forbear to live?
The little time thou hast, ‘twixt instant now
And fate’s approach, is all the gods allow:
And of this little hast thou ought to spare
To sad reflection, and corroding care?
The moments past, if thou art wise, retrieve
With pleasant memory of the bliss they gave, 30
The present hours in pleasant mirth employ,
And bribe the future with the hopes of joy:
The future (few or more, howe’er they be)
Were destin’d erst; nor can by fate’s decree
Be now cut off, betwixt the grave and thee.
THE FIRST HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS.
TO JUPITER.
WHILE we to Jove select the holy victim,
Whom apter shall we sing, than Jove himself,
The god for ever great, for ever king,
Who slew the earth-born race, and measures right
To Heaven’s great habitants? Dictæan hear’st thou
More joyful, or Lycæan, long dispute
And various thought has trac’d. On Ida’s Mount,
Or Dicte, studious of his country’s praise,
The Cretan boasts thy natal place: but oft
He meets reproof deserv’d: for he presumptuous
Has built a tomb for thee, who never know’st 11
To die, but liv’st the same to-day and ever.
Arcadian therefore be thy birth: Great Rhea
Pregnant to high Parrhasia’s cliffs retir’d,
And wild Lycæus, black with shading pines:
Holy retreat! Sithence no female hither,
Conscious of social love and nature’s rites,
Must dare approach, from the inferior reptile
To woman, form divine. There the blest parent
Ungirt her spacious bosom, and discharg’d 20
The ponderous birth: she sought a neighbouring spring
To wash the recent babe: in vain: Arcadia,
(However streamy now) adust and dry,
Denied the goddess water; where deep Melas,
And rocky Cratis flow, the chariot smok’d,
Obscure with rising dust: the thirsty traveller
In vain requir’d the current, then imprison’d
In subterraneous caverns: forests grew
Upon the barren hollows, high o’ershading
The haunts of savage beasts, where now Iaon 30
And Erimanth incline their friendly urns.
Thou too, O Earth, great Rhea said, bring forth;
And short shall be thy pangs. She said; and high
She rear’d her arm, and with her sceptre struck
The yawning cliff: from its disparted height
Adown the mount the gushing torrent ran,
And cheer’d the valleys: there the heavenly mother
Bath’d, mighty king, thy tender limbs: she wrapt them
In purple bands: she gave the precious pledge
To prudent Neda, charging her to guard thee, 40
Careful and secret: Neda, of the nymphs
That tended the great birth, next Philyre
And Styx, the eldest. Smiling, she receiv’d thee,
And conscious of the grace, absolv’d her trust:
Not unrewarded; since the river bore
The favourite virgin’s name; fair Neda rolls
By Leprion’s ancient walls, a fruitful stream.
Fast by her flowery banks the sons of Arcas,
Favourites of Heaven, with happy care protect
Their fleecy charge; and joyous drink her wave, 50
Thee, god, to Cnossus Neda brought: the nymphs
And Corybantes thee, their sacred charge,
Receiv�
��d: Adraste rock’d thy golden cradle:
The goat, now bright amidst her fellow stars,
Kind Amalthea, reach’d her teat distent
With milk, thy early food: the sedulous bee
Distill’d her honey on thy purple lips.
Around, the fierce Curetes (order solemn
To thy foreknowing mother!) trod tumultuous
Their mystic dance, and clang’d their sounding arms; 60
Industrious with the warlike din to quell
Thy infant cries and mock the ear of Saturn.
Swiftgrowth and wondrous grace, O heavenly Jove,
Waited thy blooming years: inventive wit,
And perfect judgment, crown’d thy youthful act.
That Saturn’s sons receiv’d the three-fold empire
Of Heaven, of ocean, and deep hell beneath,
As the dark urn and chance of lot determin’d,
Old poets mention, fabling. Things of moment
Well nigh equivalent and neighbouring value 70
By lot are parted: but high Heaven, thy share,
In equal balance laid ‘gainst sea or hell,
Flings up the adverse scale, and shuns proportion.
Wherefore not chance, but power, above thy brethren
Exalted thee, their king. When thy great will
Commands thy chariot forth, impetuous strength,
And fiery swiftness wing the rapid wheels,
Incessant; high the eagle flies before thee.
And oh! as I and mine consult thy augur,
Grant the glad omen; let thy favourite rise 80
Propitious, ever soaring from the right.
Thou to the lesser gods hast well assign’d
Their proper shares of power: thy own, great Jove,
Boundless and universal. Those who labour
The sweaty forge, who edge the crooked scythe,
Bend stubborn steel, and harden gleening armour,
Acknowledge Vulcan’s aid. The early hunter
Blesses Diana’s hand, who leads him safe
O’er hanging cliffs, who spreads his net successful,
And guides the arrow through the panther’s heart.
The soldier, from successful camps returning 91
With laurel wreath’d, and rich with hostile spoil,
Severs the bull to Mars. The skilful bard,
Striking the Thracian harp, invokes Apollo,
To make his hero and himself immortal.
Those, mighty Jove, meantime, thy glorious care,
Who model nations, publish laws, announce
Or life or death, and found or change the empire.
Complete Works of Matthew Prior Page 23