Matthew Prior Poems

What can I say? What Arguments can prove
My Truth? What Colors can describe my Love?
If it's Excess and Fury be not known,
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The circling months begin this day
To run their yearly ring,
And long-breathed time, which ne'er will stay,
Refits his wings and shoots away,
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When Nell, given o'er by the doctor, was dying,
And John at the chimney stood decently crying,
'Tis in vain said the woman to make such ado,
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Hier, l'Amour touche du son
Que rendoit ma lire qu'il aime,
Me promit pour une chanson,
Deux baisers de sa mere mesme.
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While cruel Nero only drains
The moral Spaniard's ebbing veins,
By study worn, and slack with age,
How dull, how thoughtless is his rage!
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While faster than his costive brain indites
Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes;
His case appears to me like honest Teague's,
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Apollo.

Abate, fair fugitive, abate thy speed,
Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy beauteous head;
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Que fais tu bergere dans ce beau verger
Tu ne songe gueres a me soulager?
Tu connois ma flamme, tu vois ma langueur,
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The sturdy man, if he in love obtains,
In open pomp and triumph reigns:
The subtle woman, if she should succeed,
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Nanny blushes when I woo her,
And with kindly chiding eyes
Faintly says I shall undo her;
Faintly, O, forbear! she cries.
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