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And he, to raise his voice with artful care,
(What will not beaux attempt to please the fair?)
On tiptoe stood to sing with greater strength,
And stretch'd his comely neck at all the length:
And while he strain'd his voice to pierce the skies,
As saints in raptures use, would shut his eyes,
That the sound striving through the narrow throat,
His winking might avail to mend the note.
By this, in song, he never had his peer,
From sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer;
Not Maro's Muse, who sung the mighty man,

Nor Pindar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a swan.
Your ancestors proceed from race divine:
From Brennus and Belinus is your line;
Who gave to sovereign Rome such loud alarms,
That ev'n the priests were not excus'd from arms.
"Besides, a famous monk of modern times

Has left of cocks recorded in his rhymes,
That of a parish-priest the son and heir,

Who, true to love, was all for recreation,
And minded not the work of propagation.
Gaufride, who couldst so well in rhyme complain
The death of Richard with an arrow slain,
Why had not I thy Muse, or thou my heart,
To sing this heavy dirge with equal art!
That I like thee on Friday might complain,
For on that day was Cœur de Lion slain.

Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames,
Were sent to Heaven by woful Trojan dames,
When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade,
And offer'd Priam to his father's shade,
Than for the cock the widow'd poultry made.
Fair Partlet first, when he was borne from sight.
With sovereign shrieks bewail'd her captive knigh!
Far louder than the Carthaginian wife,
When Asdrubal, her husband, lost his life,
When she beheld the smouldering flames ascend
And all the Punic glories at an end:

(When sons of priests were from the proverb clear,) Willing into the fires she plung'd her head,
Affronted once a cock of noble kind,

And either lam'd his legs, or struck him blind;
For which the clerk his father was disgrac'd,

And in his benefice another plac'd.

Now sing, my lord, if not for love of me,

Yet for the sake of sweet saint Charity;

With greater ease than others seek their bed;
Not more aghast the matrons of renown,
When tyrant Nero burn'd th' imperial town,
Shriek'd for the downfall in a doleful cry,
For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die
Now to my story I return again :

Make hills and dales, and Earth and Heaven rejoice, The trembling widow, and her daughters twain, And emulate your father's angel voice."

This woful cackling cry with horror heard,

The cock was pleas'd to hear him speak so fair, Of those distracted damsels in the yard;

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So much the more, as, from a little elf,

He had a high opinion of himself;

Though sickly, slender, and not large of limb,
Concluding all the world was made for him.

Ye princes, rais'd by poets to the gods,
And Alexander'd up in lying odes,
Believe not every flattering knave's report,
There's many a Reynard lurking in the court;
And he shall be receiv'd with more regard
And listen'd to, than modest Truth is heard.

This Chanticleer, of whom the story sings,
Stood high upon his toes, and clapp'd his wings;
Then stretch'd his neck, and wink'd with both his
eyes,

Ambitious, as he sought th' Olympic prize.
But, while he pain'd himself to raise his note,
False Reynard rush'd, and caught him by the throat.
Then on his back he laid the precious load,
And sought his wonted shelter of the wood;
Swiftly he made his way, the mischief done,
Of all ur heeded, and pursu'd by none.
Alas, what stay is there in human state,
Or who can shun inevitable fate?
The doom was written, the decree was past,
Ere the foundations of the world were cast!
In Aries though the Sun exalted stood,
His patron-planet to procure his good;
Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he,
In Libra rais'd, oppos'd the same degree :
The rays both good and bad, of equal power,
Each thwarting other made a mingled hour.

On Friday morn he dreamt this direful dream,
Cross to the worthy native, in his scheme!
Ah, blissful Venus, goddess of delight,
How couldst thou suffer thy devoted knight,
On thy own day, to fall by foe oppress'd,

The wight of all the world who serv'd thee best?

And, starting up, beheld the heavy sight,
How Reynard to the forest took his flight,
And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn,

64

The hope and pillar of the house was borne.
The fox, the wicked fox!" was all the cry:
Out from his house ran every neighbor nigh;
The vicar first, and after him the crew
With forks and staves, the felon to pursue.
Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band;
And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand;
Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs,

In panic horror of pursuing dogs;
With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak,
Poor swine, as if their pretty hearts would break.
The shouts of men, the women in dismay,
With shrieks augment the terror of the day;
The ducks, that heard the proclamation cried,
And fear'd a persecution might betide,
Full twenty miles from town their voyage take,
Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake.
The geese fly o'er the barn; the bees in arms
Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms.
Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout,
Struck not the city with so loud a shout;
Not when with English hate they did pursue
A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew;
Not when the welkin rung with one and all,
And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall;
Earth seem'd to sink beneath, and Heaven above ic

fall.

With might and main they chas'd the murderous fox
With brazen trumpets and inflated box,
To kindle Mars with military sounds,
Nor wanted horns t' inspire sagacious hounds.

But see, how Fortune can confc and the wise,
And, when they least expect it, turn the dice.
The captive cock, who scarce could draw his breath
And lay within the very jaws of Death;
Yet in this agony his fancy wrought,
And Fear supplied him with this happy thought.

Your's is the prize, victorious prince," said he, "The vicar my defeat, and all the village see. Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, And bid the churls that envy you the prey Call back their mongrel curs, and cease their cry. See, fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh, And Chanticleer in your despite shall die, He shall be pluck'd and eaten to the bone." ""Tis well advis'd, in faith it shall be done;" This Reynard said: but, as the word he spoke, The prisoner with a spring from prison broke: Then stretch'd his feather'd fans with all his might, And to the neighboring maple wing'd his flight; Whom when the traitor safe on tree beheld,

He curs'd the gods, with shame and sorrow fill'd;
Shame for his folly, sorrow out of time,

For plotting an unprof ́able crime;
Yet, mastering both, th' artificer of lies
Renews th' assault, and his last battery tries.

"Though I," said he, "did ne'er in thought of fend,

How justly may my lord suspect his friend!
Th' appearance is against me, I confess,
Who seemingly have put you in distress:
You, if your goodness does not plead my cause,
May think I broke all hospitable laws,
To bear you from your palace-yard by might,
And put your noble person in a fright:
This, since you take it ill, I must repent,
Though, Heaven can witness, with no bad intent:
I practis'd it, to make you taste your cheer
With double pleasure, first prepar'd by fear.
So loyal subjects often seize their prince,
Forc'd (for his good) to seeming violence,

Yet mean his sacred person not the least offence.

Descend; so help me Jove as you shall find
That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind."

Nay," quoth the cock; "but I beshrew us both, If I believe a saint upon his oath :

An honest man may take a knave's advice,
But idiots only may be cozen'd twice:
Once warn'd is well bewar'd; not flattering lies
Shall soothe me more to sing with winking eyes
And open mouth, for fear of catching flies.
Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim,
When he should see, has he deserv'd to swim ?"
Better, sir cock, let all contention cease,

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In this plain fable you th' effect may see Of negligence, and fond credulity: And learn beside of flatterers to beware, Then most pernicious when they speak too fair The cock and fox, the fool and knave imply; The truth is moral, though the tale a lie. Who spoke in parables, I dare not say; But sure he knew it was a pleasing way, Sound sense, by plain example, to convey; And in a heathen author we may find, That pleasure with instruction should be join'd; So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

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MATTHEW PRIOR was born in London, July 21, 1664. He was sent to Westminster School and to Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1686. Here he became acquainted with Charles Montagu, afterward Earl of Halifax, and the two wrote The City Mouse and Country Mouse,' an ineffectual attempt to ridicule Dryden. After the revolution Prior was introduced at court, and in 1690 he was appointed secretary to the embassy sent to the Hague. In 1695 he wrote an ode on the death of Queen Mary. In 1701 he was elected to Parliament. Thus far he had acted with the Whig party; but when the Tories came into power he found it convenient to change the color of his politics. In 1711 the government sent him to Paris with private proposals for peace. On his return, the Whigs being once

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more in power, he was charged with treason and thrown into prison, where he was kept two years, and where he wrote his poem "Alma; or, the Progress of the Mind," a piece of philosophical pleasantry of faint merit. After leaving prison he published his poems by subscription, and realized 4,000 guineas. About the same time Lord Harley gave him a small estate in Essex. He was specially excepted from an act of grace passed in 1717. On September 18, 1721, he died at Wimpole, the seat of the Earl of Oxford.

Prior does not rank very high as a poet, though he is a smooth and pleasant versifier; nor was he at all nice about either his topics or his language. His writings would not have received so much attention even in his own time, had he not been so conspicuous in political life.

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And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow."

"To-morrow!" our hero replied, in a fright: "He that's hanged before noon, ought to think of to-night."

"Tell your beads," quoth the priest, "and be fairly truss'd up,

For you surely to-night shall in Paradise sup."

"Alas!" quoth the squire, "howe'er sumptuous the treat, Parbleu! I shall have little stomach to eat; I should therefore esteem it great favor and

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HENRY AND EMMA.

А РОЕМ,

Upon the Model of the Nut-Brown Maid.

TO CLOE.

THOU, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command Though low my voice, though artless be my hand),

I take the sprightly reed, and sing, and play,
Careless of what the censuring world may say:
Bright Cloe, object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou awhile unbend thy serious brow?
Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,
And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains?
No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old;
Though since her youth three hundred years have
roll'd:

At thy desire, she shall again be rais'd;
And her reviving charms in lasting verse

prais'd.

No longer man of woman shall complain, That he may love, and not be lov'd again: That we in vain the fickle sex pursue, Who change the constant lover for the new. Whatever has been writ, whatever said, Of female passion feign'd, or faith decay'd, Henceforth shall in my verse refuted stand, Be said to winds, or writ upon the sand. And, while my notes to future times proclaim Unconquer'd love, and ever-during flame, O fairest of the sex! be thou my Muse: Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse. Let me partake the blessings I rehearse, And grant me, love, the just reward of verse!

be

As beauty's potent queen, with every grace, That once was Emma's, has adorn'd thy face; And, as her son has to my bosom dealt That constant flame, which faithful Henry felt: O let the story with thy life agree: Let men once more the bright example see; What Emma was to him, be thou to me. Nor send me by thy frown from her I love, Distant and sad, a banish'd man to rove. But, oh! with pity, long-entreated, crown My pains and hopes; and, when thou say'st that one Of all mankind thou lov'st, oh! think on me alone.

WHERE beauteous Isis and her husband Tame, With mingled waves, for ever flow the same, In times of yore an ancient baron liv'd; Great gifts bestow'd, and great respect receiv'd. When dreadful Edward, with successful care, Led his free Britons to the Gallic war; This lord had headed his appointed bands, In firm allegiance to his king's commands; And (all due honors faithfully discharg'd) Had brought back his paternal coat, enlarg'd With a new mark, the witness of his toil, And no inglorious part of foreign spoil.

From the loud camp retir'd, and noisy court,
In honorable ease and rural sport,

The remnant of his days he safely past;
Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast.
He made his wish with his estate comply,
Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.

One child he had, a daughter chaste and fair, His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir. They call'd her Emma; for the beauteous dame, Who gave the virgin birth, had borne the name: The name th' indulgent father doubly lov'd: For in the child the mother's charms improv'd Yet as, when little, round his knees she play'd. He call'd her oft, in sport, his Nut-brown Maid, The friends and tenants took the fondling word, (As still they please, who imitate their lord): Usage confirm'd what fancy had begun ; The mutual terms around the land were known And Emma and the Nut-brown Maid were one.

As with her stature, still her charms increas'a
Through all the isle her beauty was confess'd
Oh! what perfections must that virgin share,
Who fairest is esteem'd, where all are fair!
From distant shires repair the noble youth,
And find report, for once, had lessen'd truth.
By wonder first, and then by passion mov'd,
They came; they saw; they marvell'd; and they
lov'd.

By public praises, and by secret sighs,
Each own'd the general power of Emma's eyes.
In tilts and tournaments the valiant strove,

By glorious deeds, to purchase Emma's love.

In gentle verse the witty told their flame,
And grac'd their choicest songs with Emma's

name.

In vain they combated, in vain they writ:
Useless their strength, and impotent their wit.
Great Venus only must direct the dart,
Which else will never reach the fair-one's heart,
Spite of th' attempts of force, and soft effects o

art.

Great Venus must prefer the happy one :
In Henry's cause her favor must be shown;
And Emma, of mankind, must love but him alone
While these in public to the castle came,
And by their grandeur justified their flame;
More secret ways the careful Henry takes ;
His squires, his arms, and equipage forsakes:
In borrow'd name, and false attire array'd,
Oft he finds means to see the beauteous maid.
When Emma hunts, in huntsman's habit drest,
Henry on foot pursues the bounding beast.
In his right-hand his beechen pole he bears;
And graceful at his side his horn he wears.
Still to the glade, where she has bent her way
With knowing skill he drives the future prey ·
Bids her decline the hill, and shun the brake:
And shows the path her steed may safest take;
Directs her spear to fix the glorious wound;
Pleas'd in his toils to have her triumph crown'd;
And blows her praises in no common sound.

A falconer Henry is, when Emma hawks
With her of tarsels and of lures he talks.
Upon his wrist the towering merlin stands,
Practis'd to rise, and stoop, at her commands.
And when superior now the bird has flown,
And headlong brought the tumbling quarry down
With humble reverence he accosts the fair,
And with the honor'd feather decks her hair.
Yet still, as from the sportive field she goes,
His downcast eye reveals his inward woes;
And by his look and sorrow is exprest,
A nobler game pursued than bird or beast.
A shepherd now along the plain he roves;
And, with his jolly pipe, delights the groves

The neighboring swains around the stranger throng, Here oft the nymph his breathing vows had heard Or to admire, or emulate his song:

While with soft sorrow he renews his lays,
Nor heedful of their envy, nor their praise.
But, soon as Emma's eyes adorn the plain,
His notes he raises to a nobler strain,
With dutiful respect and studious fear;
Lest any careless sound offend her ear.

A frantic gipsy now, the house he haunts,
And in wild phrases speaks dissembled wants.
With the fond maids in palmistry he deals:
They tell the secret first, which he reveals;
Says who shall wed, and who shall be beguil'd;
What groom shall get, and squire maintain the child.
But, when bright Emma would her fortune know,
A softer look unbends his opening brow;
With trembling awe he gazes on her eye,
And in soft accents forms the kind reply;
That she shall prove as fortunate as fair;
And Hymen's choicest gifts are all reserv'd for her.
Now oft had Henry chang'd his sly disguise,
Unmark'd by all but beauteous Emma's eyes:
Oft had found means alone to see the dame,
And at her feet to breathe his amorous flame;
And oft, the pangs of absence to remove,
By letters, soft interpreters of love:
Till Time and Industry (the mighty two
That bring our wishes nearer to our view)
Made him perceive, that the inclining fair
Receiv'd his vows with no reluctant ear;
That Venus had confirm'd her equal reign,
And dealt to Emma's heart a share of Henry's pain.
While Cupid smil'd, by kind occasion bless'd,
And, with the secret kept, the love increas'd;
The amorous youth frequents the silent groves;
And much he meditates, for much he loves.
He loves, 'tis true; and is belov'd again :
Great are his joys; but will they long remain?
Emma with smiles receives his present flame.
But, smiling, will she ever be the same?
Beautiful looks are rul'd by fickle minds;
And summer seas are turn'd by sudden winds.
Another love may gain her easy youth:
Time changes thought, and flattery conquers truth.
O impotent estate of human life!
Where Hope and Fear maintain eternal strife;
Where fleeting joy does lasting doubt inspire;
And most we question, what we most desire!
Amongs thy various gifts, great Heaven, bestow
Our cup c. love unmix'd; forbear to throw
Bitter ingredients in; nor pall the draught
With nauseous grief: for our ill-judging thought
Hardly enjoys the pleasurable taste;
Or deems it not sincere; or fears it cannot last.
With wishes rais'd, with jealousies opprest,
(Alternate tyrante of the human breast)
By one great trial he resolves to prove
The faith of woman, and the force of love.
If, scanning Emma's virtues, he may find
That beauteous frame inclose a steady mind,
He'll fix his hope of future joy secure ;
And live a slave to Hymen's happy power.
But if the fair-one, as he fears, is frail;
If, pois'd aright in Reason's equal scale,
Light fly her merit, and her faults prevail;
His mind he vows to free from amorous care,
The latent mischief from his heart to tear,
Resume his azure arms, and shine again in war
South of the castle, in a verdant glade,
A spreading beech extends her friendly shade:

Here oft her silence had her heart declar'd.
As active Spring awak'd her infant buds,
And genial life inform'd the verdant woods;
Henry, in knots involving Emma's name,

Had half express'd, and half conceal'd, his flame,
Upon this tree: and, as the tender mark
Grew with the year, and widen'd with the bark,
Venus had heard the virgin's soft address.
That, as the wound, the passion might increase.
As potent Nature shed her kindly showers,
And deck'd the various mead with opening flowers,
Upon this tree the nymph's obliging care
Had left a frequent wreath for Henry's hair;
Which, as with gay delight the lover found,
Pleas'd with his conquest, with her present crown'd,
Glorious through all the plains he oft had gone,
And to each swain the mystic honor shown;
The gift still prais'd, the giver still unknown.

His secret note the troubled Henry writes:
To the lone tree the lovely maid invites.
Imperfect words and dubious terms express,
That unforeseen mischance disturb'd his peace;
That he must something to her ear commend,
On which her conduct and his life depend.

Soon as the fair-one had the note receiv'd, The remnant of the day alone she griev'd: For different this from every former note, Which Venus dictated, and Henry wrote; Which told her all his future hopes were laid On the dear bosom of his Nut-brown Maid; Which always bless'd her eyes, and own'd her power;

And hid her oft adieu, yet added more.
Now night advanc'd. The house in sleep werd
laid;

The nurse experienc'd, and the prying maid,
And, last, that sprite, which does incessant haunt
The lover's steps, the ancient maiden-aunt.
To her dear Henry, Emma wings her way,
With quicken'd pace repairing forc'd delay;
For Love, fantastic power, that is afraid
To stir abroad till Watchfulness be laid,
Undaunted then o'er cliffs and valleys strays,
And leads his votaries safe through pathless ways.
Not Argus, with his hundred eyes, shall find
Where Cupid goes; though he, poor guide! is blind
The maiden first arriving, sent her eye
To ask, if yet its chief delight were nigh:
With fear and with desire, with joy and pain,
She sees, and runs to meet him on the plain.
But, oh! his steps proclaim no lover's haste:
On the low ground his fix'd regards are cast;
His artful bosom heaves dissembled sighs;
And tears suborn'd fall copious from his eyes.
With ease, alas! we credit what we love :
His painted grief does real sorrow move
In the afflicted fair; adown her cheek
Trickling the genuine tears their current break
Attentive stood the mournful nymph: the man
Broke silence first: the tale alternate ran.

HENRY.

SINCERE, O tell me, hast thou felt a pain, Emma, beyond what woman knows to feign? Has thy uncertain bosom ever strove With the first tumults of a real love? Hast thou now dreaded, and now blest his sway By turns averse, and joyful to obey?

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