Venus Mistaken
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?
When was I Bathing thus, and Naked seen?
Pleas'd Cupid heard, and check'd His Mother's Pride:
And who's blind now, Mamma? the Urchin cry'd.
'Tis Cloe's Eye, and Cheek, and Lip, and Breast:
Friend Howard's Genius fancy'd all the rest.
poem by Matthew Prior
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On Bishop Atterbury's Burying The Duke Of Buckingham, 1721
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,
Who is the lying knave, the priest or layman?
The Duke he stands an infidel confess'd:
He's our dear brother, quoth the lordly priest.
The Duke, though knave, still brother dear he cries
And who can say the reverend Prelate lies?
poem by Matthew Prior
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Ode - Promesse De L'Amour
Hier, l'Amour touche du son
Que rendoit ma lire qu'il aime,
Me promit pour une chanson,
Deux baisers de sa mere mesme.
Non, luy dis-je, tu scals mes voeux,
Tu connois quel penchant m'entraine,
Au lieu d'un j'en offre deux,
Pour un seul baiser de Climene.
Il me promit ce deux retour,
Ma lire en eut plus de tendresse;
Mais vous, Climene, de l'amour
Aquiterez-vous la promesse?
poem by Matthew Prior
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Nell and John
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,
For to our long home we must all of us go.
True, Nell, replied John; but what yet is the worst
For us that remain, the best always go first;
Remember, dear wife, that I said so last year,
When you lost your white heifer, and I my brown mare.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 17. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Nanny blushes when I woo her,
And with kindly chiding eyes
Faintly says I shall undo her;
Faintly, O, forbear! she cries.
But her breasts while I am pressing,
While to hers my lips I join,
Warm'd, she seems to taste the blessing,
And her kisses answer mine.
Undebauch'd by rules of honour,
Innocence with Nature charms;
One bids gently push me from her,
The other take me in her arms.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Phyllis's Age
How old may Phyllis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task;
For she has really two ages.
Stiff in brocard, and pinch'd in stays,
Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
All day let envy view her face;
And Phyllis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
At night astronomers agree,
The evening has the day belied;
And Phyllis is some forty-three.
poem by Matthew Prior
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To A Friend On His Nuptials
When Jove lay bless'd in his Alcmæna's charms,
Three nights in one he press'd her in his arms;
The sun lay set, and conscious nature strove
To shade her god, and to prolong his love.
From that auspicious night Alcides came;
What less could rise from Jove and such a dame?
May this auspicious night with that compare,
Nor less the joys, nor less the rising heir,
He strong as Jove, she like Alcmæna fair.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 5. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Let perjured fair Amynta know
What for her sake I undergo;
Tell her, for her how I sustain
A lingering fever's wasting pain;
Tell her the torments I endure,
Which only, only she can cure.
But, oh! she scorns to hear or see
The wretch that lies so low as me;
Her sudden greatness turns her brain,
And Strephon hopes, alas! in vain;
For ne'er 'twas found (though often tried)
That Pity ever dwelt with Pride.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 20. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Since by ill fate I'm forced away,
And snatch'd so soon from those dear arms,
Against my will I must obey,
And leave those sweet endearing charms.
Yet still love on, and never fear
But you and constancy will prove
Enough my present flame to bear,
And make me, though in absence, love.
For though your presence Fate denies,
I feel, alas! the killing smart,
And can with undiscerned eyes
Behold your picture in my heart.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Upon Honour. A Fragment.
Honour, I say, or honest Fame,
I mean the substance, not the name;
(Not that light heap of tawdry wares,
Ermin, Coronets, and Stars,
Which often is by merit sought,
By gold and flatt'ry oft'ner bought.
The shade, for which Ambition looks,
In Selden's or in Ashmole's books):
But the true glory which proceeds,
Reflected bright from honest deeds,
Which we in our Own breast perceive,
And Kings can neither take nor give.
poem by Matthew Prior
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