Complete Works of Matthew Prior

by Matthew Prior

  But thou shalt go home without ever a souse.

  What is this thing, Morley, and how can you mean it?

  We have lost our estate here, before we have seen it.

  Have patience, soft Morley in anger replied:

  To find out our way, let us send off our guide.

  O here I spy Down, cost your eye to the west, 139

  Where a windmill so stately stands plainly confest.

  On the west, replied Matthew, no windmill I find;

  As well thou mayst tell me, I see the west wind:

  Now pardon me, Morley, the windmill I spy,

  But, faithful Achates, no house is there nigh.

  Look again, says mild Morley; gadzooks! you are blind:

  The mill stands before; and the house lies behind.

  O, now a low ruin’d white shed I discern,

  Until’d and unglaz’d; I believe ’tis a barn.

  A barn! why you rave: ’tis a house for a squire,

  A justice of peace, or a knight of our shire. 150

  A house should be built, or with brick, or with stone.

  Why ’tis plaster and lath; and I think that’s all one;

  And such as it is, it has stood with great fame,

  Been called a hall, and has given its name

  To Down, down, hey derry down.

  O Morley! O Morley! if that be a hall,

  The fame with the building will suddenly fall —

  With your friend Jemmy Gibbs about buildings agree;

  My business is land; and it matters not me. 160

  I wish you could tell what a deuce your head ails:

  I show’d you Down-Hall; did you look for Versailles?

  Then take house and farm as John Ballet will let you,

  For better for worse, as I took my Dame Betty.

  And now, Sir, a word to the wise is enough:

  You’ll make very little of all your old stuff:

  And to build at your age, by my troth, you grow simple!

  Are you young and rich, like the master of Wimple?

  If you have these whims of apartments and gardens,

  From twice fifty acres you’ll ne’er see five farthings:

  And in yours I shall find the true gentleman’s fate;

  Ere you finish your house, you’ll have spent your estate. 172

  Now let us touch thumbs, and be friends ere we part.

  Here, John, is my thumb. And here, Mat, is my heart.

  To Halstead I speed; and you go back to town.

  Thus ends the first part of the ballad of Down.

  Derry down, down, hey derry down.

  VERSES SPOKEN TO LADY HENRIETTA CAVENDISH-HOLLES HARLEY.

  COUNTESS OF OXFORD; IN THE LIBRARY OF 8T. JOHN’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, NOVEMBER 9. 1719.

  MADAM,

  SINCE Anna visited the Muses’ seat

  (Around her tomb let weeping angels

  Hail thou, the brightest of thy sex, and best,

  Most gracious neighbour, and most welcome guest.

  Not Harley’s self, to Cam and Isis dear,

  In virtues and in arts great Oxford’s heir;

  Not he such present honour shall receive,

  As to his consort we aspire to give.

  Writings of men our thought to-day neglects,

  To pay due homage to the softer sex: 10

  Plato and Tully we forbear to read,

  And their great followers whom this house has bred,

  To study lessons from thy morals given,

  And shining characters, impress’d by Heaven.

  Science in books no longer we pursue,

  Minerva’s self in Harriet’s face we view;

  For, when with beauty we can virtue join,

  We paint the semblance of a form divine.

  Their pious incense let our neighbours bring,

  To the kind memory of some bounteous king; 20

  With grateful hand, due altars let them raise,

  To some good knight’s or holy prelate’s praise:

  Wo tune our voices to a nobler theme,

  Your eyes we bless, your praises we proclaim,

  Saint John’s was founded in a woman’s name.

  Enjoin’d by statute, to the fair we bow;

  In spite of time, we keep our ancient vow;

  What Margaret Tudor was, is Harriet Harley now.

  PROLOGUE TO THE ORPHAN.

  REPRESENTED BY SOME OF THE WESTMINSTER SCHOLARS, AT HICKFORD’S DANCING ROOM, FEBRUARY 2, 1720.

  SPOKEN BY LORD DUPPLIN, WHO ACTED CORDELIO THE PAGE.

  WHAT! would my humble comrades have

  Gentle spectators, pray excuse the play?

  Such work by hireling actors should be done,

  Whom you may clap or hiss for half a crown.

  Our generous scenes for friendship we repeat;

  And, if we don’t delight, at least we treat.

  Ours is the damage, if we chance to blunder;

  We may be ask’d “whose patent we act under?”

  How shall we gain you, à la mode de France?

  We hir’d this room; but none of us can dance; 10

  In cutting capers we shall never please:

  Our learning does not lie below our knees.

  Shall we procure you symphony and sound?

  Then you must each subscribe two hundred pound.

  There we should fail too, as to point of voice:

  Mistake us not; we’re no Italian boys:

  True Britons born; from Westminster we come;

  And only speak the style of ancient Rome.

  We would deserve, not poorly beg, applause;

  And stand or fall by Friend’s and Busby’s laws.

  For the distress’d, your pity we implore: 21

  If once refus’d, we’ll trouble you no more,

  But leave our Orphan squalling at your door.

  HUSBAND AND WIFE.

  OH! with what woes am I opprest!

  W. Be still, you senseless calf!

  What if the gods should make you blest?

  H. Why then I’d sing and laugh:

  But if they won’t, I’ll wail and cry.

  W. You’ll hardly laugh before you die.

  TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.

  A TALE.

  ONCE on a time, in sunshine weather,

  Falsehood and Truth walk’d out to

  The neighbouring woods and lawns to view,

  As opposites will sometimes do.

  Through many a blooming mead they past,

  And at a brook arriv’d at last.

  The purling stream, the margin green,

  With flowers bedeck’d, a vernal scene,

  Invited each itinerant maid,

  To rest a while beneath the shade. 10

  Under a spreading beach they sat,

  And pass’d the time with female chat;

  Whilst each her character maintain’d;

  One spoke her thoughts, the other feign’d.

  At length, quoth Falsehood, sister Truth,

  (For so she call’d her from her youth)

  What if, to shun yon sultry beam,

  We bathe in this delightful stream;

  The bottom smooth, the water clear,

  And there’s no prying shepherd near? 20

  With all my heart, the nymph replied,

  And threw her snowy robes aside,

  Stript herself naked to the skin,

  And with a spring leapt headlong in

  Falsehood more leisurely undrest,

  And, laying by her tawdry vest.

  Trick’d herself out in Truth’s array,

  And ‘cross the meadows tript away.

  From this curst hour, the fraudful dame

  Of sacred Truth usurps the name, 30

  And, with a vile, perfidious mind,

  Roams far and near, to cheat mankind;

  False sighs suborns, and artful tears,

  And starts with vain pretended fears;

  In vi
sits, still appears most wise,

  And rolls at church her saint-like eyes;

  Talks very much, plays idle tricks,

  While rising stock her conscience pricks;

  When being, poor thing, extremely gravell’d,

  She secrets op’d, and all unravell’d. 40

  But on she will, and secrets tell

  Of John and Joan, and Ned and Nell,

  Reviling every one she knows,

  As fancy leads, beneath the rose.

  Her tongue, so voluble and kind,

  It always runs before her mind;

  As times do serve, she slily pleads,

  And copious tears still show her needs.

  With promises os thick as weeds —

  Speaks pro and con, is wondrous civil, 50

  To-day a saint, to-morrow devil.

  Poor Truth she stript, as has been said,

  And naked left the lovely maid,

  Who, scorning from her cause to wince,

  Has gone stark-naked ever since;

  And ever naked will appear,

  Belov’d by all who Truth revere.

  THE CONVERSATION.

  A TALE.

  IT always has been thought discreet

  To know the company you meet;

  And sure there may be secret danger

  In talking much before a stranger.

  “Agreed: What then?” Then drink your ale;

  I’ll pledge you, and repeat my tale.

  No matter where the scene is fixt:

  The persons were but oddly mixt;

  When sober Damon thus began

  (And Damon is a clever man), 10

  “I now grow old; but still, from youth,

  Have held for modesty and truth.

  The men, who by these sea-marks steer,

  In life’s great voyage never err:

  Upon this point I dare defy

  The world. I pause for a reply.”

  “Sir, either is a good assistant,”

  Said one who sat a little distant:

  “Truth decks our speeches and our books;

  And modesty adorns our looks: 20

  But farther progress we must take;

  Not only born to look and speak:

  The man must act. The Stagyrite

  Says thus, and says extremely right:

  Strict justice is the sovereign guide,

  That o’er our actions should preside 2

  This queen of virtues is confest

  To regulate and bind the rest.

  Thrice happy if you once can find

  Her equal balance poise your mind: 30

  All different graces soon will enter,

  Like lines concurrent to their centre.”

  ’Twas thus, in short, these two went on,

  With yea and nay, and pro and con,

  Through many points divinely dark,

  And Waterland assaulting Clarke;

  Till, in theology half lost,

  Damon took up the Evening Post;

  Confounded Spain, compos’d the North,

  And deep in politics held forth. 40

  “Methinks we’re in the like condition,

  As at the Treaty of Partition:

  That stroke, for all King William’s care,

  Begat another tedious war.

  Matthew, who knew the whole intrigue,

  Ne’er much approv’d that mystic league:

  In the vile Utrecht Treaty too,

  Poor man! he found enough to do.

  Sometimes to me he did apply;

  But Down-right Dunstable was I, 50

  And told him where they were mistaken,

  And counsell’d him to save his bacon:

  But (pass his politics and prose)

  I never herded with his foes;

  Nay, in his verses, as a friend,

  I still found something to commend.

  Sir, I excus’d his Nut-brown Maid,

  Whate’er severer critics said:

  Too far, I own, the girl was tried:

  The women all were on my side. 60

  For Alma I return’d him thanks;

  I lik’d her with her little pranks:

  Indeed, poor Solomon in rhyme

  Was much too grave to be sublime.”

  Pindar and Damon scorn transition,

  So on he ran a new division;

  Till, out of breath, he turn’d to spit;

  (Chance often helps us more than wit.)

  T’other that lucky moment took,

  Just nick’d the time, broke in, and spoke. 70

  “Of all the gifts the gods afford

  (If we may take old Tully’s word)

  The greatest is a friend; whose love

  Knows how to praise, and when reprove:

  From such a treasure never part,

  But hang the jewel on your heart:

  And, pray, sir, (it delights me) tell;

  You know this author mighty well?”

  “Know him! d’ye question it? Odds-fish!

  Sir, does a beggar know his dish? 80

  I lov’d him; as I told you, I

  Advis’d him—” Here a stander-by

  Twitch’d Damon gently by the cloke,

  And thus, unwilling, silence broke;

  “Damon, ’tis time we should retire:

  The man you talk with is Mat Prior.”

  Patron thro’ life, and from thy birth my friend,

  Dorset! to thee this fable let me send:

  With Damon’s lightness weigh thy solid worth:

  The foil is known to set the diamond forth: 90

  Let the feign’d tale this real moral give,

  How many Damons, how few Dorsets, live I

  THE FEMALE PHAETON.

  THUS Kitty, beautiful and young,

  And wild as colt untam’d,

  Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,

  With little rage inflam’d:

  Inflam’d with rage at sad restraint,

  Which wise mamma ordain’d;

  And sorely vext to play the saint,

  Whilst wit and beauty reign’d:

  “Shall I thumb holy books, confin’d

  With Abigails, forsaken? 10

  Kitty’s for other things design’d,

  Or I am much mistaken.

  “Must Lady Jenny frisk about,

  And visit with her cousins?

  At balls must she make all the rout,

  And bring home hearts by dozens?

  “What has she better, pray, than I,

  What hidden charms to boast,

  That all mankind for her should die;

  Whilst I am scarce a toast? 20

  “Dearest mamma! for once let me,

  Unchain’d, my fortune try;

  I’ll have my earl as well as she,

  Or know the reason why.

  “I’ll soon with Jenny’s pride quit score,

  Make all her lovers fall:

  They’ll grieve I was not loos’d before;

  She, I was loos’d at all.”

  Fondness prevail’d, mamma gave way;

  Kitty, at heart’s desire, 30

  Obtain’d the chariot for a day,

  And set the world on fire.

  THE JUDGMENT OF VENUS.

  WHEN Kneller’s works of various grace

  Were to fair Venus shown;

  The goddess spied in every face

  Some features of her own.

  Just so! (and pointing with her hand)

  So shone, says she, my eyes

  When from two goddesses I gain’d

  An apple for a prize.

  When in the glass, and river too,

  My face I lately view’d, 10

  Such was I, if the glass be true,

  If true the crystal flood.

  In colours of this glorious kind

  Apelles painted me;

  My hair thus flowing with the wind,

  Sprung from my native sea.

&nbs
p; Like this, disorder’d, wild, forlorn,

  Big with ten thousand fears,

  Thee, my Adonis, did I mourn,

  Ev’n beautiful in tears. 20

  But, viewing Myra plac’d apart,

  I fear, says she, I fear,

  Apelles, that Sir Godfrey’s art

  Has far surpass’d thine here.

  Or I, a goddess of the skies,

  By Myra am outdone,

  And must resign to her the prize,

  The apple which I won.

  But, soon as she had Myra seen,

  Majestically fair, 30

  The sparkling eye, the look serene,

  The gay and easy air;

  With fiery emulation fill’d,

  The wondering goddess cried,

  Apelles must to Kneller yield,

  Or Venus must to Hyde.

  DAPHNE AND APOLLO.

  IMITATED FROM THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID’S METAMORPHOSES.

  “Nympha, precor, Penei, mane.” —

  APOLLO.

  ABATE, fair fugitive, abate thy speed,

  Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy beauteous head;

  With kind regard a panting lover view;

  Less swiftly fly, less swiftly I’ll pursue:

  Pathless, alas! and rugged is the ground,

  Some stone may hurt thee, or some thorn may wound.

  DAPHNE. (Aside.)

  This care is for himself, as sure as death!

  One mile has put the fellow out of breath;

  He’ll never do, I’ll lead him t’other round;

  Washy he is, perhaps not over sound. 10

  APOLLO.

  You fly, alas! not knowing who you fly;

  Nor ill-bred swain, nor rusty clown, am I:

  I Claros isle and Tenedos command —

  DAPHNE.

  Thank you: I would not leave my native land.

  APOLLO.

  What is to come, by certain arts I know.

  DAPHNE.

  Pish! Partridge has as fair pretence as you.

  APOLLO.

  Behold the beauties of my locks —