Complete Works of Matthew Prior
Page 43
DAPHNE.
— A fig! —
That may be counterfeit, a Spanish wig.
Who cares for all that bush of curling hair, 20
Whilst your smooth chin is so extremely bare?
APOLLO.
I sing —
DAPHNE.
— That never shall be Daphne’s choice:
Syphacio had an admirable voice.
APOLLO.
Of every herb I tell the mystic power;
To certain health the patient I restore;
Sent for, caress’d —
DAPHNE.
— Ours is a wholesome air;
You’d better go to town, and practise there:
For me, I’ve no obstructions to remove: 30
I’m pretty well, I thank your father Jove,.
And physic is a weak ally to love.
APOLLO.
For learning fam’d, fine verses I compose.
DAPHNE.
So do your brother quacks and brother beaux.
Memorials only, and renews, write prose.
APOLLO.
From the bent yew I send the pointed reed,
Sure of its aim, and fatal in its speed. —
DAPHNE.
Then, leaving me, whom sure you would not kill,
In yonder thicket exercise your skill:
Shoot there at beasts; but for the human heart,
Your cousin Cupid has the only dart. 41
APOLLO.
Yet turn, O beauteous maid! yet deign to hear
A love-sick deity’s impetuous prayer;
O let me woo thee as thou wouldst be woo’d!
DAPHNE.
First, therefore, don’t be so extremely rude.
Don’t tear the hedges down, and tread the clover,
Like à hobgoblin, rather than a lover.
Next to my father’s grotto sometimes come;
At ebbing-tide he always is at home.
Read the Courant with him, and let him know 50
A little politics, how matters go
Upon his brother rivers, Rhine or Po.
As any maid or footman comes or goes,
Pull off your hat, and ask how Daphne does:
These sort of folks will to each other tell,
That you respect me; that, you know, looks well.
Then, if you are, as you pretend, the god
That rules the day, and much upon the road,
You’ll find a hundred trifles in your way,
That you may bring one home from Africa: 60
Some little rarity, some bird, or beast;
And now and then a jewel from the east;
A lacquer’d cabinet, some china ware,
You have them mighty cheap at Pekin fair!
Next, nota bene, you shall never rove,
Nor take example by your father Jove.
Last, for the ease and comfort of my life,
Make me your (Lord! what startles you?) your wife.
I’m now (they say) sixteen, or something more;
We mortals seldom live above fourscore: 70
Fourscore; you’re good at numbers, let us see,
Seventeen suppose, remaining sixty-throe;
Aye, in that span of time you’ll bury me.
Mean time, if you have tumult, noise, and strife,
(Things not abhorrent to a married life,)
They’ll quickly end, you’ll see; what signify
A few odd years to you that never die?
And, after all, you’re half your time away,
You know your business takes you up all day;
And, coming late to bed, you need not fear, 80
Whatever noise I make, you’ll sleep, my dear!
Or, if a winter-evening should be long,
E’en read your physic-book, or make a song.
Your steeds, your wife, diachalon, and rhyme,
May take up any honest godhead’s time.
Thus, as you like it, you may love again,
And let another Daphne have her reign.
Now love, or leave, my dear; retreat, or follow:
I Daphne (this premis’d) take thee Apollo.
And may I split into ten thousand trees, 90
If I give up on other terms than these!
She said; but what the amorous god replied
(So fate ordain’d) is to our search denied;
By rats, alas! the manuscript is eat,
O cruel banquet! which we all regret.
Bavius, thy labours must this work restore;
May thy good-will be equal to thy power!
THE MICE.
A TALE.
TO MR. ADRIAN DRIFT. MDCCVIII.
TWO mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion,
And (what is more) good education,
Frolic and gay, in infant years,
Equally shar’d their parents’ cares.
The sire of these two babes (poor creature!)
Paid his last debt to human nature;
A wealthy widow left behind,
Four babes, three male, one female kind.
The sire being under ground and buried,
’Twas thought his spouse would soon have married; 10
Matches propos’d, and numerous suitors,
Most tender husbands, careful tutors,
She modestly refus’d, and shew’d
She’d be a mother to her brood.
Mother! dear mother! that endearing thought
Has thousand and ten thousand fancies brought.
Tell me, oh! tell me, (thou art now above)
How to describe thy true maternal love,
Thy early pangs, thy growing anxious cares,
Thy flattering hopes, thy fervent pious prayers, 20
Thy doleful days and melancholy nights,
Cloister’d from common joys and just delights:
How thou didst constantly in private mourn,
And wash with daily tears thy spouse’s urn;
How it employ’d your thoughts and lucid time,
That your young offspring might to honour climb;
How your first care, by numerous griefs opprest
Under the burden sunk, and went to rest;
How your dear darling, by consumption’s waste,
Breath’d her last piety into your breast; 30
How you, alas! tir’d with your pilgrimage,
Bow’d down your head, and died in good old age.
Though not inspir’d, oh! may I never be
Forgetful of my pedigree, or thee!
Ungrateful howsoe’er, mayn’t I forget
To pay this small, yet tributary debt!
And when we meet at God’s tribunal throne,
Own me, I pray thee, for a pious son.
But why all this? is this your fable?
Believe me, Mat, it seems a bauble: 40
If you will let me know th’ intent on’t.
Go to your Mice, and make an end on’t.
Well then, dear brother — ,
As sure as Hudi’s sword could swaddle,
Two Mice were brought up in one cradle;
Well bred, I think, of equal port,
One for the gown, one for the court:
They parted (did they so, an’t please you?)
Yes, that they did (dear sir) to ease you.
One went to Holland, where they huff folk, 50
T’other to vend his wares in Suffolk.
(That Mice have travell’d in old times,
Horace and Prior tell in rhymes,
Those two great wonders of their ages,
Superior far to all the sages!)
Many days past, and many a night,
Ere they could gain each other’s sight;
At last, in weather cold, not sultry,
They met at the Three Cranes in Poultry.
After much buss and great grimace 60
(Usual you know in such a case),
Much chat arose, what
had been done,
What might before next summer’s sun;
Much said of France, of Suffolk’s goodness,
The gentry’s loyalty, mob’s rudeness.
That ended, o’er a charming bottle,
They enter’d on this tittle-tattle.
Quoth Suffolk, by pre-eminence
In years, though (God knows) not in sense;
All’s gone, dear brother, only we 70
Remain to raise posterity;
Marry you, brother; I’ll go down,
Sell nouns and verbs, and lie alone;
May you ne’er meet with feuds or babble,
May olive-branches crown your table!
Somewhat I’ll save, and for this end,
To prove a brother and a friend.
What I propose is just, I swear it;
Or may I perish, by this claret!
The dice are thrown, choose this or that 80
(’Tis all alike to honest Mat);
I’ll take then the contrary part,
And propagate with all my heart.
After some thought, some Portuguese,
Some wine, the younger thus replies;
Fair are your words, as fair your carriage,
Let me be free, drudge you in marriage;
Get me a boy call’d Adrian,
Trust me, I’ll do for’t what I can.
Home went well pleas’d the Suffolk tony, 90
Heart free from care, as purse from money;
Resolving full to please his taudy,
He got a spouse, and jerk’d her body;
At last when teeming time was come,
Out came her burden from her womb,
It proved a lusty squalling boy
(Doubtless the dad’s and mammy’s joy).
In short to make things square and even,
Adrian he nam’d was by Dick Stephen.
Mat’s debt thus paid, he now enlarges,
And sends you in a bill of charges,
A cradle, brother, and a basket
(Granted as soon as e’er I ask it);
A coat not of the smallest scantling, 100
Frocks, stockings, shoes, to grace the bantling;
These too were sent (or I’m no drubber)
Nay, add to these the fine gum-rubber;
Yet these won’t do, send t’other coat,
For, faith, the first’s not worth a groat,
Dismally shrunk, as herrings shotten,
Suppos’d originally rotten.
Pray let the next be each way longer,
Of stuff more durable, and stronger;
Send it next week, if you are able. 110
By this time, sir, you know the fable.
From this, and letters of the same make,
You’ll find what ’tis to have a name-sake.
Cold and hard times, sir, here, (believe it).
I’ve lost my curate too, and grieve it.
At Easter for what I can see,
(A time of ease and vacancy)
If things but alter, and not undone,
I’ll kiss your hands, and visit London.
Molly sends greeting; so do I, sir; 120
Send a good coat, that’s all; good-by, sir.
TWO RIDDLES.
FIRST PRINTED IN THE EXAMINER, MDCCX.
SPHINX was a monster that would eat
Whatever stranger she could get;
Unless his ready wit disclos’d
The subtle riddle she propos’d.
Oedipus was resolv’d to go,
And try what strength of parts would do.
Says Sphinx, On this depends your fate;
Tell me what animal is that
Which has four feet at morning bright,
Has two at noon, and three at night? 10
’Tis Man, said he, who, weak by nature,
At first creeps, like his fellow creature,
Upon all four; as years accrue,
With sturdy steps he walks on two;
In age, at length, grows weak and sick,
For his third leg adopts a stick.
Now, in your turn, ’tis just, methinks,
You should resolve me, Madam Sphinx.
What greater stranger yet is he,
Who has four legs, then two, then three; 20
Then loses one, then gets two more,
And runs away at last on four?
EPIGRAM EXTEMPORE.
I STOOD, sir, patient at your feet, your elbow chair;
But make a bishop’s throne your seat,
I’ll kneel before you there.
One only thing can keep you down,
For your great soul too mean;
You’d not, to mount a bishop’s throne,
Pay homage to the queen.
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!
BIBO AND CHARON.
WΗΕΝ Bibo thought fit from the world
As full of champagne as an egg’s full
He wak’d in the boat; and to Charon he said,
He would be row’d back, for he was not yet dead.
Trim the boat, and sit quiet, stern Charon replied:
You may have forgot, you were drunk when you died.
GABRIEL AND HIS WIVES.
O DEATH! how thou spoil’st the beet projects of life!
Said Gabriel, who still, as he buried one wife,
For the sake of her family, married her cousin;
And thus, in an honest collateral line,
He still married on till his number was nine,
Full sorry to die till he made up his dozen.
FATAL LOVE.
POOR Hal caught his death standing under a spout,
Expecting till midnight, when Nan would come out,
But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,
And curs’d was the weather that quench’d the man’s flame.
Whoe’er thou art, that read’st these moral lines,
Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.
A SAILOR’S WIFE.
QUOTH Richard in jest, looking wistly at Nelly,
Methinks, child, you seem something round in the belly!
Nell answer’d him snappishly, How can that be,
When my husband has been more than two years at sea?
Thy husband! quoth Dick: why, that matter was carried
Most secretly, Nell; I ne’er thought thou wert married.
ON A FART, LET IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
READER, I was born and cried;
I crack’d, I smelt, and so I died.
Like Julius Caesar’s was my death,
Who in the Senate lost his breath.
Much alike entomb’d does lie
The noble Romulus and I:
And when I died, like Flora fair,
I left the commonwealth my heir.
THE MODERN SAINT
HER time with equal prudence Silvia
First writes a billet-doux, then says
Her mass and toilet; vespers and the play;
Thus God and Ashtaroth divide the day.
Constant she keeps her Ember-week and Lent,
At Easter calls all Israel to her tent;
Loose without bawd, and pious without zeal,
She still repeats the sins she would conceal.
Envy herself from Silvia’s life must grant,
An artful woman makes a modern saint.
THE PARALLEL.
PROMETHEUS, forming Mr. Day,
Carv’d something like a man in clay,
The mortal’s work might well miscarry;
He, that does heaven and earth control,
Alone has power to form a soul,
His hand is evident in Harry.
Since one is but a moving clod,
T’other the lively form of God;
Squire Wallis, you will scarce be able
To prove all poetry but fable.
TO A YOUNG LADY WHO WAS FOND OF FORTUNE-TELLING.
YOU madam, may with safety go,
Decrees of destiny to know;
For at your birth kind planets reign’d,
And certain happiness ordain’d:
Such charms as yours are only given
To chosen favourites of heaven.
But, such is my uncertain state,
’Tis dangerous to try my fate;
For I would only know from art
The future motions of your heart, 10
And what predestinated doom
Attends my love for years to come;
No secrets else, that mortals learn,
My care deserve, or life concern:
But this will so important be,
I dread to search the dark decree;
For, while the smallest hope remains,
Faint joys are mingled with my pains;
Vain distant views my fancy please,
And give some intermitting ease: 20
But should the stars too plainly show
That you have doom’d my endless woe,
No human force, nor art, could bear
The torment of my wild despair.
This secret then I dare not know,
And other truths are useless now.
What matters, if unblest in love,
How long or short my life will prove?
To gratify what low desire,
Should I with needless haste inquire, 30
How great, how wealthy, I shall be?
Oh! what is wealth or power to me!
If I am happy, or undone,
It must proceed from you alone.
A GREEK EPIGRAM IMITATED.
WHEN hungry wolves had trespass’d on the fold,
And the robb’d shepherd his sad story