PREFACE. THE HE greatest part of what I have written having been already published, either singly or in some of the miscellanies, it would be too late for me to make any excuse for appearing in print. But collection of poems has lately appeared under my name, though without my knowledge, in which the publisher has given me the honour of some things that did not belong to me; and has transcribed others so imperfectly, that I hardly knew them to be mine. This has obliged me, in my own defence, to look back upon some of those lighter studies, which I ought long since to have quitted; and to publish an indifferent collection of poems, for fear of being thought the author of a worse. Thus I beg pardon of the public for re-printing some pieces, which, as they came singly from their first impression, have (I fancy) lain long and quietly in Mr. Tonson's shop; and adding others to them, which were never before printed, and might have lain as quietly, and perhaps more safely, in a corner of my own study. The reader will, I hope, make allowance for their having been written at very distant times, and on very different occasions; and take them as they happen to come: public panegyrics, amorous odes, serious reflections, or idle tales, the product of his leisure hours, who had business enough upon his hands, and was only a poet by accident. I own myself much obliged to Mrs. Singer, who has given me leave to print a pastoral of her writing; that poem having produced the verses immediately following it. I wish she might be prevailed with to publish some other pieces of that kind, in which the softness of her sex, and the fineness of her genius, conspire to give her a very distinguishing character. POSTSCRIPT. I MUST help my preface by a postscript, to tell the reader that there is ten years distance between my writing one and the other; and that (whatever I thought then, and have somewhere said, that I would publish no more poetry) he will find several copies of verses scattered through this edition which were not printed in the first. Those relating to the public stand in the order they did before, according to the several years in which they were written; however the disposition of our national affairs, the actions or fortunes of some men, and the opinions of others, may have changed. Prose, and other human things, may take what turn they can; but poetry, which pretends to have something of divinity in it, is to be more permanent. Odes, once printed, cannot well be altered, when the author has already said, that he expects his works should live for ever: and it had been very foolish in my friend Horace, if, some years after his Exegi Monumentum, he should have desired to see his building taken down again. The dedication likewise is re-printed, to the earl of Dorset, in the foregoing leaves, without any alteration; though I had the fairest opportunity, and the strongest inclination, to have added a great deal to it. The blooming hopes, which I said the world expected from my then very young patron, bave been confirmed by most noble and distinguished first-fruits; and his life is going on towards a plentiful harvest of all accumulated virtues. He has, in fact, exceeded whatever the fondness of my wishes could invent in his favour: his equally good and beautiful lady enjoys in him an indulgent and obliging husband; his children, a kind and careful father; and his acquaintance, a faithful, generous, and polite friend. His fellow-peers have attended to the persuasion of his eloquence; and have been convinced by the solidity of his reasoning. He has, long since, deserved and attained the honour of the garter. He has managed some of the greatest charges of the king. dom with known ability; and laid them down with entire disinteressment. And as he continues the exercises of these eminent virtues, (which that he may to a very old age, shall be my perpetual wish) he may be one of the greatest men that our age, or possibly our nation, has bred; and leave materials for a panegyric, not unworthy the pen of some future Pliny. From so noble a subject as the earl of Dorset, to so mean a one as myself, is (I confess) a very Pindaric transition. I shall only say one word, and trouble the reader no further. I published my poems formerly, as Monsieur Jourdain sold his silk he would not be thought a tradesman; but ordered some pieces to be measured out to his particular friends. Now I give up my shop, and dispose of all my poetical goods at once: I must therefore desire, that the public would please to take them in the gross; and that every body would turn over what he does not like. CONJUNCTUM Veneri Martem, Danosque Britannis Dum canit altisonis docta caterva modis, 1 From the Hymenæus Cantabrigiensis, Cantabrigiæ, 1683. This copy, notwithstanding the signature, is beyond a doubt the property of the facetious Matt. Prior. See the Miscellany Poems, 1781, Vol. VII. p. 93. All our college exercises are given up, signed only by us, with our surname. The dean of the college, to whom, in right of his office, Prior's verses were delivered, not knowing, or mistaking Prior's name, who was then a freshman, marked them with A. instead of M. when he gave them into the university inspectors for their approbation: or, probably, he might have made so aukward an M. that they mistook it for an A. They bear internal evidence of their being written by one, though a freshman, used to write Latin verse; and to write it too, in a great school, under a great master-as was Prior's→→ Dr. Busby. There is a classical terseness in the diction, and case and harmony in the numbers. And the distant imitation of Martial's admirable lines on the Happy Married Pair-or rather the allu. sion to that excellent little piece (for it can hardly be called an imitation of it) shows the taste of a master, at the years of a boy, and is not unworthy the name, or the fame, of Prior. KYNASTON, Cumque senes pariter cupiant valedicere terris, A. PRIOR, Coll. Div. Joh. Alumn. ON EXODUS III. 14. I AM THAT I AM. AN ODE. WRITTEN 1683, AS AN EXERCISE AT ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. MAN! foolish man! Scarce know'st thou how thyself began; Vain wretch! suppress thy knowing pride; Vain are thy thoughts, while thou thyself art dust. What though still it farther tend, And, "ETPHKA! your God, forsooth, is found But is he therefore found? vain searcher! no: Say, why should the collected Main K Why to its caverns should it sometimes creep, Why should its numerous waters stay Why does the constant Sun, With measur'd steps, his radiant journies run? To leave Earth's other part, and rise in ours? Love the just limits of its proper sphere? Man does, with dangerous curiosity, And studied lines and fictious circles draws: Lord of his new hypothesis he reigns. He reigns: how long? till some usurper rise; And he too, mighty thoughtful, mighty wise, Studies new lines, and other circles feigns. From this last toil again what knowledge flows? Just as much, perhaps, as shows That all his predecessor's rules Were empty cant, all jargon of the schools; That he on t'other's ruin rears his throne; And shows his friend's mistake, and thence confirms his own. On earth, in air, amidst the seas and skies, Mountainous heaps of wonders rise, Whose towering strength will ne'er submit To Reason's batteries, or the mines of Wit: Yet still inquiring, still mistaken man, Each hour repuls'd, each hour dares onward press: And, levelling at God his wandering guess, (That feeble engine of his reasoning war, [spair) Which guides his doubts, and combats his deLaws to his Maker the learn'd wretch can give: Can bound that nature, and prescribe that will, Whose pregnant word did either ocean fill: Can tell us whence all beings are, and how they move and live. Through either ocean, foolish man! That pregnant word sent forth again, Might to a world extend each atom there; [star. For every drop call forth a sea, a heaven for every Let cunning Farth her fruitful wonders hide ; And only lift thy staggering reason up To trembling Calvary's astonish'd top; Then down with all thy boasted volumes, down; Only reserve the sacred one: Low, reverently low, Make thy stubborn knowledge bow; Then Faith, for Reason's glimmering light, shall And Grace's presence Nature's loss retrieve: With all their comments, never could invent To reach the Heaven of heavens, the high abode, CONSIDERATIONS ON PART OF THE LXXXVIIITH PSALM, HEAVY, O Lord, on me thy judgments lie, Downward I hasten to my destin'd place; Behold the prodigal! to thee I come, let thy terrours, and my anguish end! ΤΟ ΤΗΣ REV. DR. F. TURNER, BISHOP OF ELY, WHO HAD ADVISED A TRANSLATION OF PRUDENTIUS Ir poets, ere they cloth'd their infant thought, And the rude work to just perfection brought, Did still some god, or godlike man invoke, Then mock thy knowledge, and confound thy pride, Whose mighty name their sacred silence broke: Explaining how Perfection suffer'd pain And Earth profan'd, yet bless'd, with Deicide. Your goodness, sir, 'will casily exonse A PASTORAL..TO THE From your fair pattern she would strive to write, And with unequal strength pursue your flight; Yet hopes she ne'er can err that follows you, Led by your blest commands, and great example too. Then smiling and aspiring influence give, And make the Muse and her endeavours live; Claim all her future labours as your due, Let every song begin and end with you: So to the blest retreat she'll gladly go, Where the saints' palm and Muses' laurel grow; Where kindly both in glad embrace shall join, And round your brow their mingled honours twine; Both to the virtue due, which could excel, As much in writing, as in living wellSo shall she proudly press the tuneful string, And mighty things in mighty numbers sing; Nor doubt to strike Prudentius' daring lyre, And humbly bring the verse which you ins ire. A PASTORAL. TO THE BISHOP OF ELY, ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM CAMBRIDGE. DAMON. TELL, dear Alexis, tell thy Damon, why ALEXIS. See my kids browze, my lambs securely play: DAMON. Then stop the lavish fountain of your eyes, ALEXIS. Say what can more our tortur'd souls annoy, DAMON. None, shepherd, none ALEXIS. Then cease to chide, my cares! And rather pity than restrain my tears; Those tears, my Damon, which I justly shed, To think how great my joys; how soon they fled. I told thee, friend, (now bless the shepherd's name, From whose dear care the kind occasion came) That I, even I, might happily receive [give: The sacred wealth, which Heaven and Daphnis That I might see the lovely awful swain, Whilst only he who caus'd, dislikes the song. DAMON. Was he so humble then? those joys so vast? TO THE COUNTESS OF EXETER, PLAYING ON THE LUTE. [kind WHAT charms you have, from what high race you sprung, Have been the pleasing subjects of my song: The Persians thus, first gazing on the Sun, Admir'd how high 'twas plac'd, how bright it shone : But, as his power was known, their thoughts were rais'd; And soon they worship'd, what at first they prais'd Strange force of harmony, that thus controls That your high power might worldly thoughts destroy; That with your numbers you our zeal might raise, And, like himself, communicate you jov. When to your native Heaven you shall repair, And with your presence crown the blessings there, Your lute may wind its strings but little higher, To tune their notes to that inmortal quire. |