Poems 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?

Matthew Prior

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.

Matthew Prior

Cloe Jealous

Forbear to ask Me, why I weep;

Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said:

'Tis for my Two poor stragling Sheep

Perhaps, or for my Squirrel dead.

For mind I what You late have writ?

Your subtle Questions, and Replies;

Emblems, to teach a Female Wit

The Ways, where changing Cupid flies.

Matthew Prior

To Cloe

Whilst I am scorch'd with hot desire,

In vain cold Friendship you return,

Your drops of pity on my fire,

Alas! but make it fiercer burn.

Ah! would you have the flame suppress'd,

That kills the heart it heats too fast,

Take half my passion to your breast,

The rest in mine shall ever last.

Matthew Prior

In Imitation Of Anacreon

Let 'em Censure: what care I?

The Herd of Criticks I defie.

Let the Wretches know, I write

Regardless of their Grace, or Spight.

No, no: the Fair, the Gay, the Young

Govern the Numbers of my Song.

All that They approve is sweet:

And All is Sense, that They repeat.

Matthew Prior

Daphne to Apollo Imitated From The First Book Of Ovid's Metamorphosis

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

Matthew Prior

An Epistle To Fleetwood Shephard, Esq Burleigh, May 14, 1689

Sir,

As once a twelvemonth to the priest,

Holy at Rome, here Antichrist,

The Spanish king presents a jennet

To show his love, -- that's all that's in it;

For if his Holiness would thump

His reverend bum 'gainst horse's rump,

He might be 'quipp'd from his own stable

Matthew Prior

Henry And Emma A Poem

Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown Maid. To Cloe.

Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command

(Though low my voice, though artless be my hand.

I take the sprightly reed, and sing and play,

Careless of what the censuring world may say;

Bright Cloe! object of my constant vow,

Wilt thou a while unbend thy serious brow?

Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,

Matthew Prior

Hymn To The Sun

Light of the World, and Ruler of the Year,

With happy Speed begin Thy great Career;

And, as Thou dost thy radiant Journeys run,

Through every distant Climate own,

That in fair Albion Thou hast seen

The greatest Prince, the brightest Queen,

That ever sav'd a Land, or blest a Throne,

Since first Thy Beams were spread, or Genial Power was known.

Matthew Prior

To The Author Of The Foregoing Pastoral - (Love And Friendship)

By Sylvia if thy charming self be meant;

If friendship be thy virgin vows' extent,

O! let me in Aminta's praises join,

Hers my esteem shall be, my passion thine.

When for thy head the garland I prepare,

A second wreath shall bind Aminta's hair;

And when my choicest songs thy worth proclaim,

Alternate verse shall bless Aminta's name;

Matthew Prior

On A Picture Of Seneca Dying In A Bath, By Jordain

While cruel Nero only drains

The moral Spaniard's ebbing veins,

By study worn, and slack with age,

How dull, how thoughtless is his rage!

Heighten'd revenge he should have took,

He should have burnt his tutor's book;

And long have reign's supreme in vice;

One noble wretch can only rise;

Matthew Prior

An Extempore Invitation To The Earl Of Oxford, Lord High Treasurer

My Lord,

Our weekly friends to-morrow meet

At Matthew's palace in Duke-street,

To try for once if they can dine

On bacon-ham and mutton-chine.

If, wearied with the great affairs

Which Britain trusts to Harley's cares,

Thou, humble statesman, may'st descend

Matthew Prior