Design, or chance, makes others wive;
But nature did this match contrive:
EVE might as well have ADAM fled,
As she denied her little bed
To him, for whom heav'n seem'd to frame,
And measure out, this only dame.
Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care!
Over whose heads those arrows fly
Of sad distrust, and jealousy:
Secured in as high extreme,
As if the world held none but them.
To him the fairest nymphs do show
Like moving mountains, topp'd with snow:
And ev'ry man a POLYPHEME
Does to his GALATEA seem;
None may presume her faith to prove;
He proffers death that proffers love.
Ah CHLORIS! that kind nature thus
From all the world had sever'd us:
Creating for ourselves us two,
As love has me for only you!
EPIGRAMS OF MATTHEW PRIOR.
A SIMILE.
Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
There, Thomas, didst thou never see
('Tis but by way of simile)
A squirrel spend his little rage,
In jumping round a rolling cage?
The cage, as either side turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells a-top?—
Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs:
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
He never gets two inches higher.
So fares it with those merry blades,
That frisk it under Pindus' shades.
In noble songs, and lofty odes,
They tread on stars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy round,
Still pleased with their own verses' sound;
Brought back, how fast soe'er they go,
Always aspiring, always low.
THE FLIES.
Say, sire of insects, mighty Sol,
(A Fly upon the chariot pole
Cries out), what Blue-bottle alive
Did ever with such fury drive?
Tell Belzebub, great father, tell
(Says t' other, perch'd upon the wheel),
Did ever any mortal Fly
Raise such a cloud of dust as I?
My judgment turn'd the whole debate:
My valor sav'd the sinking state.
So talk two idle buzzing things;
Toss up their heads, and stretch their wings.
But let the truth to light be brought;
This neither spoke, nor t' other fought:
No merit in their own behavior:
Both rais'd, but by their party's favor.
PHILLIS'S AGE.
How old may Phillis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task:
For she has really two ages.
Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays,
Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
All day let envy view her face,
And Phillis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
At night astronomers agree,
The evening has the day belied;
And Phillis is some forty-three.