With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down. GRAND CHORUS At last divine Cecilia came, The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, 170 With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before, Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies, UNDER MR. MILTON'S PICTURE Three poets, in three distant ages born, 175 180 5 Mattbew Prior 1664-1721 TO A CHILD OF QUALITY FIVE YEARS OLD. MDCCIV THE AUTHOR THEN FORTY (From Poems on Several Occasions, 1709) Lords, knights, and 'squires the numerous band 5 My pen among the rest I took, 10 Lest those bright eyes that cannot read Nor quality, nor reputation, Forbid me yet my flame to tell, For, while she makes her silk-worm's beds, 20 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 And we shall still continue friends. 25 For, as our different ages move, 'Tis so ordained, (would Fate but mend it!) A BETTER ANSWER Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face! Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled: Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says), Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world. 5 How cans't thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy 10 The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy: ing. 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 The difference there is betwixt nature and art: 15 I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose: And they have my whimsies; but thou hast my heart. 20 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 reclines on his Thetis's breast. So when I am wearied with wandering all day; They were but my visits, but thou art my home. 25 Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war; Joseph Addison 1672-1719 ODE THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT (1712) I. The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 5 Th' unwearied sun, from day to day, And publishes to every land II. Soon as the evening shades prevail, 10 The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And, nightly, to the listening earth, While all the stars that round her burn, III. What though, in solemn silence, all John Gay 1688-1732 FABLE XVIII THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERYBODY (From Fables, 1727) Lest men suspect your tale untrue, Keep probability in view. The traveller leaping o'er those bounds, 5 Who with his tongue hath armies routed, But flattery never seems absurd; 10 They take the strongest praise on trust. |