Full Oft Doth Matt. With Topaz Dine - In Chaucer's Style
Full oft doth Matt. with Topaz dine,
Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine:
But Topas his own worke rehearseth,
And Matt. mote praise what Topaz verseth.
Now shure as priest did e'er shrive sinner,
Full hardly earneth Matt. his dinner.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 11. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Morella, charming without art,
And kind without design,
Can never lose the smallest part
Of such a heart as mine.
Obliged a thousand several ways,
It ne'er can break her chains,
While passion which her beauties raise
My gratitude maintains.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 3. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Strephonetta, why d'ye fly me,
With such rigour in your eyes:
Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me,
Since your charms I so much prize.
But I plainly see the reason
Why in vain I you pursued,
Her to gain 'twas out of season,
Who before the chaplain woo'd.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Democritus And Heraclitus
Democritus, dear droll, revisit earth,
And with our follies glut thy heighten'd mirth:
Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, return,
In louder grief our greater crimes to mourn,
Between you both I unconcern'd stand by;
Hurt can I lauh? and honest need I cry?
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 13. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Love! inform thy faithful creature
How to keep his fair one's heart;
Must it be by truth of nature,
Or by poor dissembling art?
Tell the secret, show the wonder,
How we both may gain our ends;
I am lost if we're asunder,
Ever tortured if we're friends.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 2. Set By Mr. Purcell
Whither would my passion run?
Shall I fly her, or pursue her?
Losing her I am undone,
Yet would not gain her to undo her.
Ye tyrants of the human breast,
Love and Reason, cease your war,
And order Death to give me rest,
So each will equal triumph share.
poem by Matthew Prior
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To Fortune
Whilst I in prison or in court look down,
Nor beg thy favour nor deserve thy frown,
In vain malicious Fortune hast thou tried
By taking from my state to quell my pride:
Insulting girl, thy present rage abate,
And wouldst thou have my humbled, make me great.
poem by Matthew Prior
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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.
poem by Matthew Prior
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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 Lubin fears that he may die;
His wife, that he may live.
poem by Matthew Prior
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A Flower. Painted By Simon Varelst
When famed Varelst this little wonder drew,
Flora vouchsafed the growing works to view;
Finding the painter's science at a stand,
The goddess snatch'd the pencil from his hand,
And finishing the piece, she smiling said,
Behold one work of mine that ne'er shall fade.
poem by Matthew Prior
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