A Reasonable Affliction

On his death-bed poor Lubin lies:
His spouse is in despair;
With frequent cries, and mutual sighs,
They both express their care.

"A different cause," says Parson Sly,
"The same effect may give:
Poor Lubin fears that he may die;
His wife, that he may live."

Matthew Prior

Matthew Prior was an English poet and diplomat. He is known for his extensive contributions to poetry during the late 17th and early 18th centuries. Prior's works often blend sharp wit, classical allusions, and a mastery of form. Apart from poetry, he was actively involved in politics and served as a diplomat for the English government. His poetry reflects his broad knowledge and varied experiences.

Matthew Prior

An Ode : While From Our Looks, Fair Nymph, You Guess

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

To A Lady

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

The Remedy Worse Than The Disease

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

To My Lord Buckhurst, Very Young, Playing With A Cat

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Wives By The Dozen

O Death how thou spoil'st the best project of life,
Said Gabriel, who still as he bury'd one wife,
For the sake of her family married her cousin;
And thus in an honest collateral line
He still married on till his number was nine,
Full sorry to die till he made up his dozen.

Matthew Prior

On A Similar Occasion. For The Year 1792.

Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Atque metus omnes et inexorabile fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari!Virg.


Happy the mortal who has traced effects
To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet
And death and roaring hells voracious fires!


Thankless for favours from on high,
Man thinks he fades too soon;
Though tis his privilege to die,
Would he improve the boon.


But he, not wise enough to scan
His blest concerns aright,
Would gladly stretch lifes little span
To ages, if he might.


To ages in a world of pain,
To ages, where he goes
Galld by afflictions heavy chain,
And hopeless of repose.


Strange fondness of the human heart,
Enamourd of its harm!

William Cowper

Place For A Third

Nothing to say to all those marriages!
She had made three herself to three of his.
The score was even for them, three to three.
But come to die she found she cared so much:
She thought of children in a burial row;
Three children in a burial row were sad.
One mans three women in a burial row
Somehow made her impatient with the man.
And so she said to Laban, You have done
A good deal right; dont do the last thing wrong.
Dont make me lie with those two other women.

Laban said, No, he would not make her lie
With anyone but that she had a mind to,
If that was how she felt, of course, he said.
She went her way. But Laban having caught
This glimpse of lingering person in Eliza,
And anxious to make all he could of it
With something he remembered in him...

Robert Lee Frost

Sick Man And Angel.

        "Is there no hope?" the sick man said.
        The silent doctor shook his head,
        And took his leave with unfeigned sorrow
        To lose a patient on the morrow.
        When left alone, the dying man
        "Let me review my life" - began;
        "My bargains - well, they were well made;
        'Tis the necessity of trade -
        Necessity is no transgression.
        Now for my portion in possession:
        My lands and my securities,
        They all are right, in every wise.
        If justice to myself and heirs
        Have done some hardships unawares, -
        Left Smith in jail for debt, or sent
        The Browns adrift for unpaid rent, -
        I've given alms and helped my friends,
        What I propose will make amen...

John Gay

Waiting at the Gate.

Draw closer to my side to-night,
Dear wife, give me thy hand,
My heart is sad with memories
Which thou canst understand,
Its twenty years this very day,
I know thou minds it well,
Since o'er our happy wedded life
The heaviest trouble fell.

We stood beside the little cot,
But not a word we said;
With breaking hearts we learned, alas,
Our little Claude was dead,
He was the last child born to us,
The loveliest, - the best,
I sometimes fear we loved him more
Than any of the rest.

We tried to say "Thy will be done,"
We strove to be resigned;
But all in vain, our loss had left
Too deep a wound behind.
I saw the tears roll down thy cheek,
And shared thy misery,
But could not speak a soothing word,
I could but grieve with...

John Hartley

Remedy Worse Than The Disease, A

I sent for Ratcliffe; 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.

Matthew Prior