Songs Set To Music: 23. Set By Mr. De Fesch

Well, I will never more complain,
Or call the Fates unkind;
Alas! how fond it is, how vain!
But self-conceitedness does reign
I nevery mortal mind.

'Tis true, they long did me deny,
Nor would permit a sight;
I raged, for I could not espy,
Or think that any harm could lie
Disguised in that delight.

At last, my wishes to fulfil,
They did their power resign,
I saw her, but I wish I still
Had been obedient to their will,
And they not unto mine.

Yet I by this have learn'd the wit
Never to grieve or fret;

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The New Year's Gift To Phyllis

The circling months begin this day
To run their yearly ring,
And long-breathed time, which ne'er will stay,
Refits his wings and shoots away,
It round again to bring.
Who feels the force of female eyes
And thinks some nymph divine,
Now brings his annual sacrifice,
Some pretty toy or neat device
To offer at her shrine.
But I can pay no offering
To show how I adore,
Since I have but a heart to bring —
A downright foolish, faithful thing,
And that you had before.
Yet we may give, for custom sake,
What will to both be new:
My constancy a gift I'll make
And in return of it will take
Some levity from you.

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Songs Set To Music: 24. Set By Mr. C. R.

Cloe beauty has, and wit,
And an air that is not common;
Every charm in her does meet,
Fit to make a handsome woman.

But we do not only find
Here a lovely face or feature,
For she's merciful and kind;
Beauty's answer'd by good-nature.

She is always doing good,
Of her favours never sparing,
And, as all good Christians should,
Keeps poor mortals from despairing.

Jove the power knew of her charms,
And that no man could endure 'em,
So providing 'gainst all harms,
Gave to her the power to cure 'em,

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Cupid In Ambush

It oft to many has successful been
Upon his arm to let his mistress lean,
Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,
Or gently squeeze her knees, or press her feet.
All public sports to favour young desire,
With opportunities like this conspire.
E'en where his skill the gladiator shows,
With human blood where the Arena flows,
There oftentimes Love's quiver-bearing boy
Prepares his bow and arrows to destroy;
While the spectator gazes on the sight,
And sees them wound each other with delight;
While he his pretty mistress entertains,
And wagers with her who the conquest gains,
Slily the god takes aim, and hits his heart,
And in the wounds he sees he bears his part.

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Old Gentry

That all from Adam first began,
None but ungodly Whiston doubts,
And that his son and his son's son
Were all but ploughmen, clowns, and louts.

Each when his rustic pains began
To merit pleaded equal right;
'Twas only who left off at noon,
Or who went on to work till night.

But coronets we owe to crowns,
And favour to a court's affection;
By nature we are Adam's sons,
And sons of Anstis by election.

Kingsale! eight hundred years have roll'd
Since thy forefathers had the plough;
When this in story shall be told,
Add, that my kindred do so now.

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Songs Set To Music: 6. Set By Mr. Smith

Phillis, since we have both been kind,
And of each other had our fill,
Tell me what pleasure you can find
In forcing Nature 'gainst her will.

'Tis true, you may, with art and pain,
Keep in some glowings of desire,
But still those glowings which remain
Are only ashes of the fire.

Then let us free each other's soul,
And laugh at the dull constant fool
Who would Love's liberty control,
And teach us how to whine by rule.

Let us no impositions set
Or clogs upon each other's heart;
But, as for pleasure first we met,
So now for pleasure let us part.

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Song

THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
   Conveys it in a borrow'd name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure;
   But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre,
   Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;
When Chloe noted her desire
   That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise;
   But with my numbers mix my sighs:
And while I sing Euphelia's praise,
   I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd:
   I sung, and gazed: I play'd, and trembled:
And Venus to the Loves around
   Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled.

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Simile

Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
There, Thomas, didst thou never see
('Tis but by way of simile)
A squirrel spend his little rage
In jumping round a rolling cage?
The cage, as either side turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells a-top?--

Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs:
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
He never gets two inches higher.

So fares it with those merry blades,
That frisk it under Pindus' shades.
In noble songs, and lofty odes,
They tread on stars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy round,
Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound;

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Chanson. - And Imitation

Que fais tu bergere dans ce beau verger
Tu ne songe gueres a me soulager?
Tu connois ma flamme, tu vois ma langueur,
Prens belle inhumaine pitie de mon coeur.

Dequoy te plains tu malheureux berger?
Que n'ay je point fait pour te soulager!
J'ay quitte la plaine, mon troupeau, mon chien,
Prend on tat de peine quand on n'aime rien.

Imitation

Why thus from the plain does my sheperdess rove,
Forsaking her swain and neglecting his love?
You have heard all my grief, you see how I die,
Oh! give some relief to the swain whom you fly.

How can you complain, or what am I to say,

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

To The Lady Dursley

Here reading how fond Adam was betray'd,
And how by sin Eve's blasted charms decay'd,
Our common loss unjustly you complain,
So small that part of it which you sustain.

You still, fair mother, in your offspring trace
The stock of beauty destined for the race;
Kind Nature forming them, the pattern took
From heaven's first work, and Eve's original look.

You, happy saint, the serpent's power control;
Scarce any actual guilt defiles your soul;
And hell does o'er that mind vain triumphs boast
Which gains does o'er that mind vain triumphs boast

With virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm'd,
In vain the fruit had blush'd, or serpent charm'd;
Nor had our bliss by penitence been bought,
Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote.

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!