Matthew Prior

A Reasonable Affliction

On his death-bed poor Lubin lies: His spouse is in despair: With frequent sobs, and mutual cries, They both express their care. A different cause, says Parson Sly, The same effect may give: Poor

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

To Chloe Jealous

Dear Chloe, how blubber’d is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl’d: Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says) Let us e’en talk a little like

Interr’d beneath this marble stone, Lie saunt’ring Jack and idle Joan. While rolling threescore years and one Did round this globe their courses run; If human things went ill or well; If changing empires

To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, 1704. The Author then Forty

LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous band That wear the fair Miss Mary’s fetters, Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their letters. My pen amongst the rest I took,

The Merchant, To Secure His Treasure

The merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrowed name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure, But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre Upon Euphelia’s toilet lay

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,

Horace, Lib. I, Epist. IX, Imitated

[To the right honourable Mr. Harley] Dear Dick, how e’er it comes into his head, Believes, as firmly as he does his creed, That you and I, sir, are extremely great; Though I plain

On My Birthday, July 21

I, MY dear, was born to-day So all my jolly comrades say: They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth, And ask to celebrate my birth: Little, alas! my comrades know That I was born

Song

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,

A Better Answer

Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled! Prithee quit this caprice, and (as old Falstaff says) Let us e’en talk a little like

A Letter to Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a Child

MY noble, lovely, little Peggy, Let this my First Epistle beg ye, At dawn of morn, and close of even, To lift your heart and hands to Heaven. In double duty say your prayer:

To a Lady

Spare, gen’rous victor, spare the slave, Who did unequal war pursue; That more than triumph he might have, In being overcome by you. In the dispute whate’er I said, My heart was by my

Cupid Mistaken

As after noon, one summer’s day, Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way, New strung his bow, new fill’d his quiver. With skill he chose his sharpest dart: With all

For my own Monument

AS doctors give physic by way of prevention, Mat, alive and in health, of his tombstone took care; For delays are unsafe, and his pious intention May haply be never fulfill’d by his heir.

Jinny the Just

Releas’d from the noise of the butcher and baker Who, my old friends be thanked, did seldom forsake her, And from the soft duns of my landlord the Quaker, From chiding the footmen and

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,