Complete Works of Matthew Prior

by Matthew Prior

  Which else will never reach the Fair one’s Heart;

  Spight of th’Attempts of Force, and soft Effects of Art.

  Great Venus must prefer the happy One:

  In Henry’s Cause Her Favour must be shown:

  And Emma, of Mankind, must Love but Him alone.

  While These, in Public, to the Castle came,

  And by their Grandeur justify’d their Flame:

  More secret Ways the careful Henry takes;

  His Squires, his Arms, and Equipage forsakes.

  In borrow’d Name, and false Attire, array’d,

  Oft He finds Means to see the beauteous Maid.

  When Emma hunts, in Huntsman’s Habit drest,

  Henry on Foot pursues the bounding Beast.

  In his right Hand his beachen Pole he bears:

  And graceful at his Side his Horn he wears.

  Still to the Glade, where She has bent her Way,

  With knowing Skill he drives the future Prey.

  Bids her decline the Hill, and shun the Brake;

  And shews the Path her Steed may safest take.

  Directs her Spear to fix the glorious Wound;

  Pleas’d, in his Toils, to have her Triumph Crown’d:

  And blows her Praises in no common Sound.

  A Falc’ner Henry is, when Emma Hawks:

  With her of Tarsels, and of Lures he talks.

  Upon his Wrist the tow’ring Merlin stands;

  Practis’d to rise, and stoop, at her Commands.

  And when Superior now the Bird has flown,

  And headlong brought the tumbling Quarry down:

  With humble Rev’rence he accosts the Fair;

  And with the honor’d Feather decks her Hair.

  Yet still, as from the sportive Field She goes,

  His down-cast Eye reveals his inward Woes.

  And by his Look and Sorrow is exprest,

  A nobler Game persu’d, than Bird or Beast.

  A Shepherd now along the Plain he roves;

  And, with his jolly Pipe, delights the Groves.

  The neighb’ring Swains around the Stranger throng,

  Or to admire, or emulate his Song:

  While, with soft Sorrow, he renews his Lays,

  Nor heedful of their Envy, nor their Praise.

  But soon as Emma’s Eyes adorn the Plain,

  His Notes he raises to a nobler Strain;

  With dutiful Respect, and studious Fear,

  Lest any careless Sounds offend her Ear.

  A frantick Gipsey, now the House He haunts,

  And in wild Phrases, speaks dissembled Wants.

  With the fond Maids in Palmistry he deals:

  They Tell the Secret first, which he Reveals:

  Says who shall Wed, and who shall be Beguil’d;

  What Groom shall Get, and Squire maintain the Child.

  But when bright Emma wou’d her Fortune know;

  A softer Look unbends his op’ning Brow.

  With trembling Awe, he gazes on her Eye;

  And in soft Accents, forms the kind Reply;

  That She shall prove as Fortunate as Fair,

  And Hymen’s choicest Gifts are All reserv’d for Her.

  Now oft had Henry chang’d his sly Disguise;

  Unmark’d by all, but beauteous Emma’s Eyes.

  Oft had found Means alone to see the Dame,

  And at her Feet to breath his am’rous Flame;

  And oft, the Pangs of Absence to remove

  By Letters, soft Interpreters of Love:

  ‘Till Time and Industry (the mighty Two

  That bring our Wishes nearer to our View)

  Made him perceive, that the inclining Fair

  Receiv’d his Vows with no reluctant Ear;

  That Venus had confirm’d her equal Reign,

  And dealt to Emma’s Heart a share of Henry’s Pain.

  While Cupid smil’d, by kind Occasion bless’d,

  And, with the Secret kept, the Love increas’d;

  The am’rous Youth frequents the silent Groves;

  And much He meditates; for much He loves.

  He loves: ’tis true; and is belov’d again:

  Great are his Joys: but will they long remain?

  Emma with Smiles receives his present Flame;

  But smiling, will She ever be the same?

  Beautiful Looks are rul’d by fickle Minds;

  And Summer Seas are turn’d by sudden Winds.

  Another Love may gain her easie Youth:

  Time changes Thought; and Flatt’ry conquers Truth.

  O impotent Estate of human Life!

  Where Hope and Fear maintain eternal Strife:

  Where fleeting Joy does lasting Doubt inspire;

  And most We Question, what We most Desire.

  Amongst thy various Gifts, great Heav’n, bestow

  Our Cup of Love unmix’d; forbear to throw

  Bitter Ingredients in; nor pall the Draught

  With nauseous Grief: for our ill-judging Thought

  Hardly injoys the pleasurable Taste;

  Or deems it not sincere; or fears it cannot last.

  With Wishes rais’d, with Jealousies opprest

  (Alternate Tyrants of the Human Breast)

  By one great Tryal He resolves to prove

  The Faith of Woman, and the Force of Love.

  If scanning Emma’s Virtues, He may find

  That beauteous Frame inclose a steady Mind;

  He’ll fix his Hope, of future Joy secure;

  And live a Slave to Hymen’s happy Pow’r.

  But if the Fair one, as he fears, is frail;

  If pois’d aright in Reason’s equal Scale,

  Light fly her Merits, and her Faults prevail;

  His Mind He vows to free from am’rous Care,

  The latent Mischief from his Heart to tear,

  Resume his Azure Arms, and shine again in War.

  South of the Castle, in a verdant Glade,

  A spreading Beach extends her friendly Shade:

  Here oft the Nymph His breathing Vows had heard:

  Here oft Her Silence had Her Heart declar’d.

  As active Spring awak’d her Infant Buds;

  And genial Life inform’d the verdant Woods;

  Henry, in Knots involving Emma’s Name,

  Had half express’d, and half conceal’d his Flame

  Upon This Tree: and as the tender Mark

  Grew with the Year, and widen’d with the Bark:

  Venus had heard the Virgin’s soft Address,

  That, as the Wound, the Passion might increase.

  As potent Nature shed her kindly Show’rs,

  And deck’d the various Mead with op’ning Flow’rs;

  Upon This Tree the Nymph’s obliging Care

  Had left a frequent Wreath for Henry’s Hair:

  Which as with gay Delight the Lover found;

  Pleas’d with his Conquest, with her Present crown’d,

  Glorious thro’ all the Plains He oft had gone,

  And to each Swain the Mystic Honor shown;

  The Gift still prais’d, the Giver still unknown.

  His secret Note the troubled Henry writes,

  To the known Tree the Lovely Maid invites:

  Imperfect Words and dubious Terms express,

  That unforseen Mischance disturb’d his Peace;

  That He must something to Her Ear commend,

  On which Her Conduct, and His Life depend.

  Soon as the Fair one had the Note receiv’d;

  The remnant of the Day alone She griev’d:

  For diff’rent This from ev’ry former Note,

  Which Venus dictated, and Henry wrote;

  Which told her all his future Hopes were laid

  On the dear Bosom of his Nut-brown Maid;

  Which always bless’d her Eyes, and own’d her Pow’r;

  And bid her oft Adieu, yet added more.

  Now Night advanc’d. The House in Sleep were laid,<
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  The Nurse experienc’d, and the prying Maid;

  And last That Sprite, which does incessant haunt

  The Lover’s Steps, the ancient Maiden Aunt.

  To her dear Henry Emma wings her Way,

  With quicken’d Pace repairing forc’d Delay.

  For Love, fantastic Pow’r, that is afraid

  To stir abroad ‘till Watchfulness be laid;

  Undaunted then, o’er Cliffs and Valleys strays;

  And leads his Vot’ries safe thro’ pathless Ways.

  Not Argus with his hundred Eyes shall find,

  Where Cupid goes; tho’ He poor Guide is blind.

  The Maiden first arriving, sent her Eye,

  To ask, if yet it’s Chief Delight were nigh:

  With Fear, and with Desire, with Joy, and Pain

  She sees, and runs to meet Him on the Plain.

  But oh! his Steps proclaim no Lover’s Haste:

  On the low Ground his fix’d Regards are cast:

  His artful Bosom heaves dissembl’d Sighs;

  And Tears suborn’d fall copious from his Eyes.

  With Ease, alas! we Credit what we Love:

  His painted Grief does real Sorrow move

  In the afflicted Fair; Adown her Cheek

  Trickling the genuine Tears their Current break.

  Attentive stood the mournful Nymph: the Man

  Broke Silence first: the Tale alternate ran.

  HENRY:

  Sincere O tell me, hast thou felt a Pain,

  Emma, beyond what Woman knows to feign?

  Has Thy uncertain Bosom ever strove

  With the first Tumults of a real Love?

  Hast Thou now dreaded, and now blest his Sway;

  By turns averse, and joyful to obey?

  Thy Virgin Softness hast Thou e’er bewail’d,

  As Reason yielded, and as Love prevail’d?

  And wept the potent God’s resistless Dart,

  His killing Pleasure, his Ecstatic Smart,

  And heav’nly Poison thrilling tho’ thy Heart?

  If so, with Pity view my wretched State;

  At least deplore, and the forget my Fate:

  To some more happy Knight reserve thy Charms,

  By Fortune favor’d, and successful Arms:

  And only, as the Sun’s revolving Ray

  Brings back each Year this melancholy Day;

  Permit one Sigh, and set apart one Tear,

  To an abandon’d Exile’s endless Care.

  For Me, alas! Out-cast of Human Race,

  Love’s Anger only waits, and dire Disgrace:

  For lo! these Hands in Murther are imbru’d;

  These trembling feet by Justice are pursu’d:

  Fate calls aloud, and hastens me away;

  A shameful Death attends my longer Stay;

  And I this Night must fly from Thee and Love,

  Condemn’d in lonely Woods a banish’d Man to rove.

  EMMA:

  What is our Bliss, that changeth with the Moon;

  And Day of Life, that darkens e’er ’tis Noon?

  What is true Passion, if unblest it dies?

  And where is Emma’s Joy, if Henry flies?

  If Love, alas! be Pain; the Pain I bear,

  No Thought can figure, and no Tongue declare.

  Ne’er faithful Woman felt, nor false one feign’d

  The Flames, which long have in my Bosom reign’d:

  The God of love himself inhabits there,

  With all his Rage, and Dread, and Grief, and Care,

  His Complement of Stores, and total War.

  O! cease then coldly to suspect my Love;

  And let my Deed, at least, my Faith approve.

  Alas! no Youth shall my Endearments share;

  Nor Day nor Night shall interrupt my Care:

  No future Story shall with Truth upbraid

  The cold Indiff’rence of the Nut-brown Maid:

  Nor to hard Banishment shall Henry run;

  While careless Emma sleeps in Beds of Down.

  View Me resolv’d where-e’er Thou lead’st, to go,

  Friend to thy Pain, and Partner of thy Woe:

  For I attest fair Venus, and her Son,

  That I, of all Mankind, will love but Thee alone.

  HENRY:

  Let Prudence yet obstruct Thy vent’rous Way;

  And take good heed, what Men will think and say;

  That Beauteous Emma vagrant Courses took;

  Her Father’s House and civil Life forsook;

  That full of youthful Blood, and fond of Man,

  She to the Wood-land with an Exile ran.

  Reflect, that lessen’d Fame is ne’er regain’d;

  And Virgin Honor once, is always stain’d:

  Timely advis’d, the coming Evil shun:

  Better not do the Deed, that weep it done.

  No Penance can absolve our guilty Fame;

  Nor Tears, that wash out Sin, can wash out Shame.

  Then fly the sad Effects of desp’rate Love;

  And leave a banish’d Man thro’ lonely Woods to Rove.

  EMMA:

  Let Emma’s hapless Case be falsely told

  By the rash Young, or the ill-natur’d Old:

  Let ev’ry Tongue it’s various Censures chuse,

  Absolve with Coldness, or with Spight accuse:

  Fair Truth, at last, her radiant Beams will raise;

  And Malice vanquish’d heightens Virtue’s Praise.

  Let then thy Favour but indulge my Flight;

  O! let my Presence make thy Travels light;

  And potent Venus shall exalt my Name

  Above the Rumors of censorious Fame:

  Nor from that busie Demon’s restless Pow’r

  Will ever Emma other Grace implore,

  Than that this Truth should to the World be known,

  That I, of all Mankind, have lov’d but Thee alone.

  HENRY:

  But canst Thou wield the Sword, and bend the Bow?

  With active Force repel the sturdy Foe?

  When the loud Tumult speaks the Battel nigh,

  And winged Deaths in whistling Arrows fly;

  Wilt Thou, tho’ wounded, yet undaunted stay,

  Perform thy Part, and share the dangerous Day?

  Then, as thy Strength decays, thy Heart will fail;

  Thy Limbs all trembling, and thy Cheeks all pale:

  With fruitless Sorrow Thou, inglorious Maid,

  Wilt weep thy Safety by thy Love betray’d:

  Then to thy Friend, by Foes o’er-charg’d, deny

  Thy little useless Aid, and Coward fly:

  Then wilt thou curse the Chance that made Thee love

  A banish’d Man, condemn’d in lonely Woods to rove.

  EMMA:

  With fatal Certainty Thalestris knew

  To send the Arrow from the twanging Yew:

  And great in Arms, and foremost in War,

  Bonduca brandish’d high the British Spear.

  Could Thirst of Vengeance, and Desire of Fame

  Excite the Female Breast with Martial Flame?

  And shall not Love’s diviner Pow’r inspire

  More hardy Virtue, and more gen’rous Fire?

  Near Thee, mistrust not, constant I’ll abide,

  And fall, or vanquish, fighting by thy Side.

  Tho’ my Inferior Strength may not allow,

  That I should bear, or draw the Warrior Bow;

  With ready Hand I will the Shaft supply,

  And joy to see thy Victor Arrows fly.

  Touch’d in the Battel by the Hostile Reed,

  Should’st Thou (but Heav’n avert it!) should’st Thou bleed;

  To stop the Wounds my finest Lawn I’d tear;

  Wash them with Tears, and wipe them with my Hair:

  Blest, when my Dangers and my Toils have shown,

  That I, of all Mankind, could love but Thee alone.

  HENRY:

  But canst
Thou, tender Maid, canst Thou sustain

  Afflicted Want, or Hunger’s pressing Pain?

  Those Limbs, in Lawn and softest Silk array’d;

  From Sun-beams guarded, and of Winds afraid;

  Can they bear angry Jove? Can they resist

  The parching Dog-star, and the bleak North-East?

  When chill’d by adverse Snows, and the beating Rain,

  We tread with weary Steps the longsome Plain;

  When with hard Toil We seek our Ev’ning Food,

  Berries and Acorns, from the neighb’ring Wood;

  And find among the Cliffs no other House,

  But the thin Covert of some gather’d Boughs;

  Wilt Thou not then reluctant send thine Eye

  Around the dreary Waste; and weeping try

  (Tho’ then, alas! that Tryal be too late)

  To find thy Father’s Hospitable Gate,

  And Seats, where Ease and Plenty brooding sate?

  Those Seats whence long excluded Thou must mourn:

  That Gate, for ever barr’d to thy Return:

  Wilt Thou not then bewail ill-fated Love,

  And hate a banish’d Man, condemn’d in Woods to rove?

  EMMA:

  Thy Rise of Fortune did I only wed,

  From it’s Decline determin’d to recede?

  Did I but purpose to embark with Thee,

  On the smooth Surface of a Summer’s Sea;

  While gentle Zephyrs play in prosp’rous Gales;

  And Fortune’s Favour fills the swelling Sails:

  But would forsake the Ship, and make the Shoar,

  When the Winds whistle, and the Tempests roar?

  No, Henry, no: One Sacred Oath has ty’d

  Our Loves; One Destiny our Life shall guide;

  Nor Wild, nor Deep our common Way divide.

  When from the Cave Thou risest with the Day,

  To beat the Woods, and rouse the bounding Prey;

  The Cave with Moss and Branches I’ll adorn,

  And chearful sit, to wait my Lord’s Return.

  And when Thou frequent bring’st the smitten Deer;

  (For seldom, Archers say, Thy Arrows err)

  I’ll fetch quick Fewel from the neighb’ring Wood,

  And strike the sparkling Flint, and dress the Food:

  With humble Duty and officious Haste,

  I’ll cull the furthest Mead for Thy Repast:

  The choicest Herbs I to Thy Board will bring;