Songs Set To Music: 17. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Nanny blushes when I woo her,
And with kindly chiding eyes
Faintly says I shall undo her;
Faintly, O, forbear! she cries.
But her breasts while I am pressing,
While to hers my lips I join,
Warm'd, she seems to taste the blessing,
And her kisses answer mine.
Undebauch'd by rules of honour,
Innocence with Nature charms;
One bids gently push me from her,
The other take me in her arms.
poem by Matthew Prior
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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, paint, and jewels on;
All day let envy view her face;
And Phyllis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
At night astronomers agree,
The evening has the day belied;
And Phyllis is some forty-three.
poem by Matthew Prior
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To A Friend On His Nuptials
When Jove lay bless'd in his Alcmæna's charms,
Three nights in one he press'd her in his arms;
The sun lay set, and conscious nature strove
To shade her god, and to prolong his love.
From that auspicious night Alcides came;
What less could rise from Jove and such a dame?
May this auspicious night with that compare,
Nor less the joys, nor less the rising heir,
He strong as Jove, she like Alcmæna fair.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 5. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Let perjured fair Amynta know
What for her sake I undergo;
Tell her, for her how I sustain
A lingering fever's wasting pain;
Tell her the torments I endure,
Which only, only she can cure.
But, oh! she scorns to hear or see
The wretch that lies so low as me;
Her sudden greatness turns her brain,
And Strephon hopes, alas! in vain;
For ne'er 'twas found (though often tried)
That Pity ever dwelt with Pride.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Songs Set To Music: 20. Set By Mr. De Fesch
Since by ill fate I'm forced away,
And snatch'd so soon from those dear arms,
Against my will I must obey,
And leave those sweet endearing charms.
Yet still love on, and never fear
But you and constancy will prove
Enough my present flame to bear,
And make me, though in absence, love.
For though your presence Fate denies,
I feel, alas! the killing smart,
And can with undiscerned eyes
Behold your picture in my heart.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Upon Honour. A Fragment.
Honour, I say, or honest Fame,
I mean the substance, not the name;
(Not that light heap of tawdry wares,
Ermin, Coronets, and Stars,
Which often is by merit sought,
By gold and flatt'ry oft'ner bought.
The shade, for which Ambition looks,
In Selden's or in Ashmole's books):
But the true glory which proceeds,
Reflected bright from honest deeds,
Which we in our Own breast perceive,
And Kings can neither take nor give.
poem by Matthew Prior
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The Honest Shepherd
When hungry wolves had trespass'd on the fold,
And the robb'd shepherd his sad story told,
'Call in Alcides,' said a crafty priest,
'Give him one half and he'll secure the rest.'
No, said the shepherd, if the Fates decree,
By ravaging my flock to ruin me,
To their commands I willingly resign,
Power is their character, and patience mine;
Though troth, to me there seems but little odds
Who prove the greatest robbers - wolves or gods.
poem by Matthew Prior
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The Modern Saint
Her time with equal prudence Silvia shares,
First writes her billet-doux, then says her prayers,
Her mass and toilette, 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.
poem by Matthew Prior
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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:
Our Father first, then Notre Pere.
And, dearest child, along the day,
In every thing you do and say,
Obey and please my lord and lady,
So God shall love and angels aid ye.
If to these precepts you attend,
No second letter need I send,
And so I rest your constant friend.
poem by Matthew Prior
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A Song. In Vain You Tell Your Parting Lover
In vain you tell your parting lover
You wish fair winds may waft him over
Alas! what winds can happy prove
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain
From slighted vows and cold disdain?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose,
That thrown again upon the coast
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain,
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted vows and cold disdain.
poem by Matthew Prior
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