A Passage In The Moriae Encomium Of Erasmus. Imitated

In awful pomp and melancholy state,
See settled Reason on the judgement-seat;
Around her crowd Distrust, and Doubt, and Fear,
And thoughtful Foresight, and tormenting Care;
Far from the throne the trembling Pleasures stand,
Chain'd up or exiled by her stern command.
Wretched her subjects, gloomy sits the queen,
Till happy chance reverts the cruel scene;
And apish Folly, with her wild resort
Of wit and jest, disturbs the solemn court.

See the fantastic Minstrelsy advance
To breathe the song and animate the dance.
Bless'd the usurper! happy the surprise!
Her mimic postures catch our eager eyes;
Her jingling bells affect our captive ear,
And in the sights we see and sounds we hear,
Against our judgement she our sense employs,
The laws of troubled reason she drestroys,
And in their place rejoices to indite

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poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 14. Set By Mr. Smith

Once I was unconfined and free,
Would I had been so still!
Enjoying sweetest liberty,
And roving at my will.

But now, not master of my heart,
Cupid does so decide,
That two she tyrants shall it part,
And so poor me divide.

Victoria's will I must obey,
She acts without control;
Phillis has such a taking way
She charms my very soul.

Deceived by Phillis' looks and smiles,
Into her snares I run;
Victoria shows me all her wiles,
Which yet I dare not shun.

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poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 8. Set By Mr. Smith

Still, Dorinda, I adore;
Think I mean not to deceive you,
For I loved you much before,
And, alas! now love you more
Though I force myself to leave you.

Staying I my vows shall fail,
Virtue yields as love grows stronger;
Fierce desires will prevail,
You are fair and I am frail,
And dare trust myself no longer.

You, my love, too nicely coy,
Lest I should have gain'd the treasure,
Made my vows and oaths destroy
The pleasing hopes I did enjoy
Of all my future peace and pleasure.

To my vows I have been true,
And in silence hid my anguish,

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poem by Matthew Prior
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Her Right Name

As Nancy at her toilette sat,
Admiring this, and blaming that,
Tell me, she said, but tell me true,
The nymph who could your heart subdue.
What sort of charms does she possess?
Absolve me, fair one, I'll confess
With pleasure, I replied: Her hair,
In ringlets rather dark than fair,
Does down her ivory bosom roll,
And hiding half adorns the whole,
In her high forehead's fair half round
Love sits, in open triumph crown'd;
He, in the dimple of her chin,
In private state, by friends is seen.
Her eyes are neither black nor grey,
Nor fierce nor feeble is their ray;
Their dubious lustre seems to show
Something that speaks nor yes nor no.
Her lips no living bard, I weet,
May say how red, how round, how sweet:

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poem by Matthew Prior
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Considerations - On Part Of The 88th Psalm. A College Exercise

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,
And every place is hell, for God is gone.
O Lord, arise, and let thy beams control
Those horrid clouds that press my frighted soul:
Save the poor wanderer from eternal night,
Thou that art the God of light.

Downward I hasten to my destined place;
There none obtain thy aid, or sing thy praise,
Soon shall I lie in death's deep ocean drown'd:
Is mercy there, or sweet forgiveness found?
O save me yet whilst on the brink I stand;
Rebuke the storm, and waft my soul to land,
O let her rest beneath thy wing secure,
Thou that art the God of power.

Behold the prodigal! to thee I come,
To hail my father, and to seek my home.

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poem by Matthew Prior
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Nonpareil

Let others from the Town retire,
And in the fields seek new delight;
My Phillis does such joys inspire,
No other objects please my sight.

In her alone I find whate'er
Beauties a country landscape grace;
No shade so lovely as her hair,
Nor plain so sweet as is her face.

Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field;
Transparent is her skin so fine,
To this each crystal stream must yield.

Her voice more sweet than warbling sound,
Though sung by nightingale or lark;
Her eyes such lustre dart around,
Compared to them the sun is dark.

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poem by Matthew Prior
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The Female Phaeton

Thus Kitty, beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untamed,
Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,
With little rage inflamed.

Inflamed with rage at sad restraint
Which wise mamma ordain'd,
And sorely vex'd to play the saint
Whilst wit and beauty reign'd.

Shall I thumb holy books, confined
With Abigails, forsaken?
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?

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poem by Matthew Prior
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The Question to Lisetta

WHAT nymph should I admire or trust,
But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just?
What nymph should I desire to see,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay,
But her who listens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my sorrow shares?
For whom should I the garland make,
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts she wears it for my sake?
In love am I not fully blest?
Lisetta, prithee tell the rest.

LISETTA'S REPLY

Sure Chloe just, and Chloe fair,
Deserves to be your only care;
But, when you and she to-day
Far into the wood did stray,

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poem by Matthew Prior
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To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, the Author Suppos'd Forty

Lords, knights, and squires, the num'rous band,
That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,
Were summon'd by her high command,
To show their passions by their letters.

My pen amongst the rest I took,
Lest those bright eyes that cannot read
Should dart their kindling fires, and look
The pow'r they have to be obey'd.

Nor quality, nor reputation,
Forbid me yet my flame to tell,
Dear Five-years-old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.

For while she makes her silk-worms beds
With all the tender things I swear;
Whilst all the house my passion reads,
In papers round her baby's hair;

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poem by Matthew Prior
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The Judgement 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,
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.

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poem by Matthew Prior
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