୮ For here, as in some glass, is well descried Only yourself thus often multiplied. When Heaven had you and gracious Anna1 made, It but kept up to these, nor could do more With all that world of charms, which soon will move That thought can fancy, or that Heaven can form; So when the parent sun, with genial beams, 1 Eldest daughter of the countess. He sees himself improv'd, while every stone, So when great Rhea many births had given, And to what God soe'er men altars rais'd, Honouring the offspring, they the mother prais'd. In short-liv'd charms let others place their joys, Which sickness blasts, and certain age destroys: Your stronger beauty time can ne'er deface, 'Tis still renew'd, and stamp'd in all your race. Ah! Wiessen, had thy art been so refin❜d, As with their beauty to have drawn their mind : Through circling years thy labours would survive, And living rules to fairest virtue give, To men unborn and ages yet to live: "Twould still be wonderful, and still be new, Against what time, or spite, or fate, could do; Till thine confus'd with Nature's pieces lie, And Cavendish's name and Cecil's honour die. A FABLE FROM PHÆDRUS. TO THE AUTHOR OF THE MEDLEY,1 1710. THE fox an actor's vizard found, And peer'd, and felt, and turn'd it round: 1 A periodical paper by Oldmixon, Maynwaring, and others, set up in opposition to the Examiner. Then threw it in contempt away, And thus old Phædrus heard him say: "What noble part canst thou sustain, Thou specious head without a brain?" ON MY BIRTHDAY, JULY 21. I, My dear, was born to-day, So all my jolly comrades say; They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth, Little, alas my comrades know, I, my dear, was born to-day, 1 Mrs. Anne Durham. Then let me see great Venus enus chase EPITAPH. EXTEMPORE. NOBLES and heralds, by your leave, Here lies what once was Matthew Prior; The son of Adam and of Eve, Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher? FOR MY OWN MONUMENT. As doctors give physic by way of prevention, Mat, alive, and in health, of his tombstone took care; For delays are unsafe, and his pious intention Then take Mat's word for it, the sculptor is paid, That the figure is fine, pray believe your own eye; Yet credit but lightly what more may be said, For we flatter ourselves, and teach marble to lie. Yet, counting as far as to fifty his years, His virtues and vices were as other men's are; High hopes he conceiv'd, and he smother'd great fears, In life party-colour'd, half pleasure, half care. Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave, He strove to make interest and freedom agree; In public employments industrious and grave, And, alone with his friends, lord, how merry was he! Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot, Both fortunes he tried, but to neither would trust; And whirl'd in the round, as the wheel turn'd about, He found riches had wings, and knew man was but dust. This verse little polish'd, though mighty sincere, Sets neither his titles nor merit to view; It says that his relics collected lie here, And no mortal yet knows too if this may be true. Fierce robbers there are that infest the highway, So Mat may be kill'd, and his bones never found; False witness at court, and fierce tempests at sea, So Mat may yet chance to be hang'd, or be drown'd. If his bones lie in earth, roll in sea, fly in air, To fate we must yield, and the thing is the same. And if passing, thou giv'st him a smile, or a tear, He cares not-yet prithee be kind to his fame. |