And all the thunder of the battle rise! 'T was then great Marlbro's mighty soul was proved, That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 20 Amidst confusion, horrour, and despair, In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 25 To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, 1704. 30 MATTHEW PRIOR TO A CHILD OF QUALITY FIVE YEARS OLD THE AUTHOR THEN FORTY Lords, knights, and squires, the num'rous band Were summoned, by her high command, To show their passions by their letters. 5 My pen amongst the rest I took, Lest those bright eyes that cannot read Forbid me yet my flame to tell; Nor quality nor reputation ΙΟ Dear five years old befriends my passion, For while she makes her silk-worms beds In papers round her baby's hair, 15 She may receive and own my flame; For though the strictest prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous dame, And I for an unhappy poet. Then, too, alas! when she shall tear The lines some younger rival sends, 20 For, as our diff'rent ages move, 25 'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love When she begins to comprehend it. 1704. 1704. TO A LADY SHE REFUSING TO CONTINUE A DISPUTE WITH ME AND LEAVING ME IN But she, howe'er of vict'ry sure, Contemns the wreath too long delayed, And, armed with more immediate pow'r, Calls cruel silence to her aid. Deeper to wound, she shuns the fight; She drops her arms, to gain the field; Secures her conquest by her flight, And triumphs when she seems to yield. So when the Parthian turned his steed He sent, and as he fled he slew. A SIMILE Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop A squirrel spend his little rage 1704. 25 30 5 In jumping round a rolling cage, The cage, as either side turned up, Striking a ring of bells a-top? Moved in the orb, pleased with the chimes, Still pleased with their own verses' sound; 20 AN ODE The merchant, to secure his treasure, My softest verse, my darling lyre, Upon Euphelia's toilet lay, That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, But with my numbers mix my sighs; I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes. Fair Chloe blushed; Euphelia frowned; 5 ΙΟ I sung and gazed, I played and trembled; 15 Remarked how ill we all dissembled. 1718. A BETTER ANSWER Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face! How canst thou presume thou hast leave to destroy The beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping? Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy; More ord'nary eyes may serve people for weeping. To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ, Your judgment at once and my passion you wrong; You take that for fact which will scarce be found wit: Od's life! must one swear to the truth of a song? What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows I court others in verse, but I love thee in prose; 5 ΙΟ 15 The god of us verse-men (you know, child), the sun, So when I am wearied with wand'ring all day, Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war, And let us like Horace and Lydia agree; For thou art a girl as much brighter than her 1718. JONATHAN SWIFT A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING 20 25 5 The kennel edge, where wheels had worn the place. ΙΟ The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep, And brick-dust Moll had screamed through half a street. The turnkey now his flock returning sees, Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees. The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands, And school-boys lag with satchels in their hands. 1709. 1709. 15 |