PRIOR was the nephew of the keeper of a tavern at Charing Cross, where he was found by the Earl of Dorset, and sent at his expense to be educated at Cambridge. By the same nobleman's influence he went as secretary with the Earl of Berkeley, our ambassador at the Hague, where King William was so pleased with his conduct as to appoint him one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber. In 1697 he was secretary of legation at the treaty of Ryswick, and the next year held the same office at the court of France. On his return, after having been with the king at Loo, he was made under secretary of state, and on losing his place at the Earl of Jersey's removal, he was made a commissioner of trade.

He sat in the parliament that met in 1701: but in the progress of Queen Anne's war, though he celebrated Blenheim and Ramillies as a poet, he deserted as a politician to the Tories, and accompanying Bolingbroke to Paris for pacific

objects, remained there till he rose to the rank of ambassador, the duties of which office he had for some time previously fulfilled. The vindictive Whigs committed him to custody for two years, after his return, on a charge of high treason. At fifty-three years of age he found himself, after all his important employments, with no other means of subsistence than his fellowship at Cambridge; but the publication of his poems by subscription, and the kindness of Lord Harley, restored him to easy circumstances for the rest of his life.

Prior was one of the last of the race of poets who relied for ornament on scholastic allusion and pagan machinery; but he used them like Swift, more in jest than earnest, and with good effect. In his Alma he contrives even to clothe metaphysics in the gay and colloquial pleasantry, which is the characteristic charm of his

manner.

THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.

IN IMITATION OF A GREEK IDYLLIUM.

CELIA and I the other day
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea:
The setting sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost:
And, on the surface of the deep,
The winds lay only not asleep:
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.

But, O the change! the winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars;
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight;
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.

[Prior's fictions are mythological. Venus, after the example of the Greek Epigram, asks when she was seen naked and bathing. Then Cupid is mistaken; then Cupid is disarmed; then he loses his darts to Ganymede; then Jupiter sends him a summons by Mercury. Then Chloe goes a hunting with an ivory quiver graceful at her side; Diana mistakes her for one of her nymphs, and Cupid laughs at the blunder. All this is surely despicable.JOHNSON.

Once more at least look back, said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good humour drest;
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
"Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.

But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
When the big lip and watery eye
Tell me, the rising storm is nigh;
"Tis then, thou art yon angry main,
Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain;
And the poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labours less than I.

Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make,
While love and fate still drive me back:
Forced to doat on thee thy own way,

I chide thee first, and then obey:
Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh,
I with thee, or without thee, die.

"When Prior wrote," says Cowper, "Venus and Cupid were not so obsolete as now. His sontemporary writers, and some that succeeded him, did not think them beneath their notice. Tibullus, in reality, disbelieved their existence as much as we do; yet Tibullus is allowed to be the prince of all poetical innamaratos, though he mentions them in almost every page.. There is a fashion in these things, which the Doctor seems to have forgotten."--Letter to Unwin, January 5th, 1782.]

AN ANSWER TO CHLOE.

DEAR Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face! · Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd! Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)

Let us even talk a little like folks of this world.

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 ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping. To be vex'd 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: [song? Odd's-life! must one swear to the truth of a

What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows

The difference there is betwixt nature and art: I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose: And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my heart.

The god of us verse-men (you know, child,) the

sun,

How after his journeys he sets up his rest: If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run, At night he declines on his Thetis's breast.

So when I am wearied with wandering all day, To thee, my delight, in the evening I come; No matter what beauties I saw in my way, They were but my visits, but thou art my home.

T'hen finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war,

And let us like Horace and Lydia agree; For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poet sublimer than me.

THE REMEDY WORSE THAN THE DISEASE.

I SENT for Radcliffe; was so ill,

That other doctors gave me over: He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill, And I was likely to recover.

But, when the wit began to wheeze, And wine had warm'd the politician, Cured yesterday of my disease,

I died last night of my physician.

PARTIAL FAME.

THE sturdy man, if he in love obtains,
In open pomp and triumph reigns:
The subtle woman, if she should succeed,
Disowns the honour of the deed.

Though he, for all his boast, is forced to yield,
Though she can always keep the field:
He vaunts his conquests, she conceals her shame;
How partial is the voice of fame!

SONG.

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?
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.

AN EPITAPH. INTERR'D beneath this marble stone Lie sauntering Jack and idle Joan. While rolling threescore years and one Did round this globe their courses run, If human things went ill or well, If changing empires rose or fell, The morning pass'd, the evening came, And found this couple still the same. They walk'd, and eat, good folks: what then? Why then they walk'd and eat again; They soundly slept the night away; They did just nothing all the day: And, having buried children four, Would not take pains to try for more. Nor sister either had nor brother; They seem'd just tallied for each other. Their moral and economy Most perfectly they made agree; Each virtue kept its proper bound, Nor tresspass'd on the other's ground. Nor fame nor censure they regarded; They neither punish'd nor rewarded. He cared not what the footman did; Her maids she neither praised nor chid: So every servant took his course, And, bad at first, they all grew worse. Slothful disorder fill'd his stable, And sluttish plenty deck'd her table. Their beer was strong: their wine was port; Their meal was large; their grace was short. They gave the poor the remnant meat, Just when it grew not fit to eat.

They paid the church and parish rate,
And took, but read not, the receipt;
For which they claim'd their Sunday's due,
Of slumbering in an upper pew.

No man's defects sought they to know;
So never made themselves a foe.
No man's good deeds did they commend;
So never raised themselves a friend.
Nor cherish'd they relations
poor;
That might decrease their present store:
Nor barn nor house did they repair;
That might oblige their future heir.

They neither added nor confounded;
They neither wanted nor abounded.
Each Christmas they accounts did clear,
And wound their bottom round the year.

Nor tear nor smile did they employ
At news of public grief or joy.
When bells were rung and bonfires made,
If ask'd, they ne'er denied their aid;
Their jug was to the ringers carried,
Whoever either died or married.
Their billet at the fire was found,
Whoever was deposed or crown'd.

Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise;
They would not learn, nor could advise:
Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
They led-a kind of—as it were:

Nor wish'd, nor car'd, nor laugh'd, nor cried: And so they lived, and so they died.

PROTOGENES AND APELLES.

WHEN poets wrote, and painters drew,
As Nature pointed out the view;
Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece
To spoil the well-proportion'd piece;
And in our verse ere monkish rhymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes;
Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes
Those knights had fix'd their dull abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor cared to pray, nor dared to fight:
Protogenes, historians note,

Lived there, a burgess, scot and lot;
And, as old Pliny's writings show,
Apelles did the same at Co.
Agreed these points of time and place,
Proceed we in the present case.

Piqued by Protogenes's fame,
From Co to Rhodes, Apelles came,
To see a rival and a friend,
Prepared to censure, or commend;
Here to absolve, and there object,
As art with candour might direct.
He sails, he lands, he comes, he rings;
His servants follow with the things:
Appears the governante of th' house,
For such in Greece were much in use:
If young or handsome, yea or no,
Concerns not me or thee to know.

Does Squire Protogenes live here?
Yes, Sir, says she, with gracious air,
And court'sey low, but just call'd out
By lords peculiarly devout,
Who came on purpose, Sir, to borrow
Our Venus, for the feast to-morrow,
To grace the church; 'tis Venus' day:
I hope, Sir, you intend to stay,
To see our Venus; 'tis the piece

The most renown'd throughout all Greece;
So like th' original, they say;
But I have no great skill that way.
But, Sir, at six ('tis now past three)
Dromo must make my master's tea:
At six, Sir, if you please to come,
You'll find my master, Sir, at home.

Tea, says a critic, big with laughter,
Was found some twenty ages after;
Authors, before they write, should read.
"Tis very true; but we'll proceed.

And, Sir, at present, would you please
To leave your name-Fair maiden, yes,
Reach me that board. No sooner spoke
But done. With one judicious stroke,
On the plain ground Apelles drew
A circle regularly true:

And will you please, sweetheart, said he,
To show your master this for me?
By it he presently will know
How painters write their names at Co.
He gave the pannel to the maid.
Smiling and court'sying, Sir, she said,
I shall not fail to tell my master:
And, Sir, for fear of all disaster,
I'll keep it my ownself: safe bind,
Says the old proverb, and safe find.
So, Sir, as sure as key or lock—
Your servant, Sir,-at six o'clock.
Again at six Apelles came,
Found the same prating civil dame.
Sir, that my master has been here,
Will by the board itself appear.
If from the perfect line be found
He has presumed to swell the round,
Or colours on the draught to lay,
'Tis thus, (he order'd me to say)
Thus write the painters of this isle :
Let those of Co remark the style:

She said; and to his hand restored
The rival pledge, the missive board.
Upon the happy line were laid
Such obvious light, and easy shade,
That Paris' apple stood confest,
Or Leda's egg, or Chloe's breast.
Apelles view'd the finish'd piece:
And live, said he, the arts of Greece!
Howe'er Protogenes and I
May in our rival talents vie;
Howe'er our works may have express'd
Who truest drew, or colour'd best,
When he beheld my flowing line,
He found at least I could design;
And from his artful round, I grant
That he with perfect skill can paint.
The dullest genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my tale;
That the distinguish'd part of men,
With compass, pencil, sword, or pen,
Should in life's visit leave their name,
In characters which may proclaim
That they with ardour strove to raise
At once their arts, and country's praise;
And in their working took great care,
That all was full, and round, and fair.*

THE CAMELEON.

As the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own;
But borrows from his neighbour's hue
His white or black, his green or blue;

[This story, which Prior took in a very plain state from Pliny and enlivened with his own exquisite humour, has been altered by Mason and weakened-it is not easy to add to Prior when he wrote in his happiest moods.]

And struts as much in ready light, Which credit gives him upon sight, As if the rainbow were in tail Settled on him and his heirs male;

So the young 'squire, when first he comes
From country shool to Will's or Tom's,
And equally, in truth, is fit
To be a statesman, or a wit;
Without one notion of his own,
He saunters wildly up and down,
Till some acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the gang;
They jest, reply, dispute, harangue :
He acts and talks, as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him.

Thus, merely as his fortune chances,

His merit or his vice advances.

If haply he the sect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their mysterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace;
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have said the week before;
His wisdom sets all Europe right,
And teaches Marlborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet

With folks who have more wealth than wit;
He loves cheap port, and double bub;
And settles in the Hum-drum club;
He learns how stocks will fall or rise;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation,
And says that learning spoils a nation.

But if, at first, he minds his hits,
And drinks champagne among the wits;
Five deep he toasts the towering lasses;
Repeats you verses wrote on glasses;
Is in the chair: prescribes the law;
And lies with those he never saw.

FROM "ALMA; OR, THE PROGRESS OF THE MIND.”*

CANTO II.

TURN we this globe, and let us see

How different nations disagree

In what we wear, or eat and drink;
Nay, Dick, perhaps in what we think.
In water as you smell and taste
The soils through which it rose and past;
In Alma's manners you may read
The place where she was born and bred.
One people from their swaddling bands
Released their infants' feet and hands;
Here Alma to these limbs was brought,
And Sparta's offspring kick'd and fought.
Another taught their babes to talk,
Ere they could yet in go-carts walk:

[What Prior meant by this poem I cannot understand; by the Greek motto to it one would think it was either to laugh at the subject or his reader. There are some parts of it very fine; and let them save the badness of the rest. GOLDSMITH.

What suggested to Johnson the thought that the Alma

There Alma settled in the tongue,
And orators from Athens sprung.

Observe but in these neighbouring lands
The different use of mouths and hands;
As men reposed their various hopes,
In battles these, and those in tropes.

In Britain's isles, as Heylin notes,
The ladies trip in petticoats;
Which, for the honour of their nation,
The quit but on some great occasion.
Men there in breeches clad you view;
They claim that garment as their due.
In Turkey the reverse appears;
Long coats the haughty husband wears,
And greets his wife with angry speeches
If she be seen without her breeches.
In our fantastic climes, the fair
With cleanly powder dry their hair;
And round their lovely breast and head
Fresh flowers their mingled odours shed.
Your nicer Hottentots think meet
With guts and tripe to deck their feet:
With down-cast looks on Totta's legs
The ogling youth most humbly begs
She would not from his hopes remove
At once his breakfast and his love:
And, if the skittish nymph should fly,
He in a double sense must die.

We simple toasters take delight
To see our women's teeth look white,
And every saucy, ill-bred fellow
Sneers at a mouth profoundly yellow.
In China none hold women sweet,
Except their snags are black as jet.
King Chihu put nine queens to death,
Convict on statute, Ivory Teeth.

At Tonquin, if a prince should die
(As Jesuits write, who never lie,)
The wife, and counsellor, and priest,
Who served him most, and loved him best,
Prepare and light his funeral fire,
And cheerful on the pile expire.
In Europe, 'twould be hard to find
In each degree one half so kind.

Now turn we to the farthest east,
And there observe the gentry dress'd.
Prince Giolo, and his royal sisters,
Scarr'd with ten thousand comely blisters;
The marks remaining on the skin,
To tell the quality within.
Distinguish'd slashes deck the great:
As each excels in birth or state,
His oylet-holes are more and ampler:
The king's own body was a sampler.
Happy the climate, where the beau
Wears the same suit for use and show:
And at a small expense your wife,
If once well pink'd, is clothed for life.
Westward again, the Indian fair
Is nicely smear'd with fat of bear:

was written in imitation of Hudibras I cannot conceive. In former years they were both favourites of mine, and I often read them; but I never saw in them the least resemblance to each other; nor do I now, except that they are composed in verse of the same measure. CowPER, Letter to Unwin, 21st March, 1784.]

Before you see, you smell your toast;
And sweetest she who stinks the most.
The finest sparks and cleanest beaux
Drip from the shoulders to the toes:
How sleek their skins! their joints how easy!
There slovens only are not greasy.

I mention'd different ways of breeding:
Begin we in our children's reading.
To master John the English maid
A horn-book gives of gingerbread;
And, that the child may learn the better,
As he can name, he eats the letter.
Proceeding thus with vast delight,
He spells and gnaws from left to right.
But, show a Hebrew's hopeful son
Where we suppose the book begun,
The child would thank you for your kindness,
And read quite backward from our finis.
Devour he learning ne'er so fast,
Great A would be reserved the last,

An equal instance of this matter

Is in the manners of a daughter.
In Europe if a harmless maid,

By nature and by love betray'd,

Should, ere a wife, become a nurse,

Her friends would look on her the worse.
In China, Dampier's travels tell ye
(Look in his Index for Pagelli,)
Soon as the British ships unmoor,
And jolly long-boat rows to shore,
Down come the nobles of the land;
Each brings his daughter in his hand,
Beseeching the imperious tar

To make her but one hour his care.
The tender mother stands affrighted,
Lest her dear daughter should be slighted:
And poor miss Yaya dreads the shame
Of going back the maid she came.

Observe how custom, Dick, compels,
The lady that in Europe dwells:
After her tea, she slips away,
And what to do, one need not say.
Now see how great Pomonque's queen
Behaved herself amongst the men:
Pleased with her punch, the gallant soul
First drank, then water'd in the bowl;
And sprinkled in the captain's face
The marks of her peculiar grace.

To close this point we need not roam
For instances so far from home.
What parts gay France from sober Spain?
A little rising rocky chain.

Of men born south or north o' th' hill,
Those seldom move, these ne'er stand still.
Dick, you love maps, and may perceive
Rome not far distant from Geneve.
If the good Pope remains at home,
He's the first prince in Christendom.
Choose then, good Pope, at home to stay,
Nor westward curious take thy way:
Thy way unhappy shouldst thou take,
From Tiber's bank to Leman lake,
Thou art an aged priest no more,
But a young flaring painted whore:
Thy sex is lost, thy town is gone;
No longer Rome, but Babylon.

That some few leagues should make this change,

To men unlearn'd seems mighty strange.

But need we, friend, insist on this? Since, in the very Cantons Swiss,

All your philosophers agree,

And prove it plain, that one may be

A heretic, or true believer,

On this, or t' other side a river.

Here, with an artful smile, quoth Dick,
Your proofs come mighty full and thick-
The bard, on this extensive chapter
Wound up into poetic rapture,
Continued: Richard, cast your eye
By night upon a winter-sky:
Cast it by day-light on the strand
Which compasses fair Albion's land:
If you can count the stars that glow
Above, or sands that lie below,
Into those common-places look,
Which from great authors I have took,
And count the proofs I have collected,
To have my writings well protected.
These I lay by for time of need,
And thou may'st at thy leisure read.
For standing every critic's rage,
I safely will to future age
My system, as a gift, bequeath,
Victorious over spite and death.

made him acceptable; but at his death not a friend or relative came to commit his remains to the dust! He was buried in the meanest manner, under a hollow tree, that was once part of the boundary of the churchyard of Hampstead. No memorial was placed over his remains.