An Extempore Invitation To The Earl Of Oxford, Lord High Treasurer

My Lord,
Our weekly friends to-morrow meet
At Matthew's palace in Duke-street,
To try for once if they can dine
On bacon-ham and mutton-chine.
If, wearied with the great affairs
Which Britain trusts to Harley's cares,
Thou, humble statesman, may'st descend
Thy mind one moment to unbend,
To see thy servant from his soul
Crown with thy health the sprightly bowl,
Among the guests, which e'er my house
Received it never can produce
Of honour a more glorious proof,
Though Dorset used to bless the roof.

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

The Pedant

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Verses - Spoken to Lady Henrietta Cavendish Holles-Harley, Countess of Oxford

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Upon Playing At Ombre With Two Ladies

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Cupid Turned Stroller. - From Anacreon

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

English

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Dennis Invitation To Steele; Horace, Book I, Ep. V

JOHN DENNIS, THE SHELTERING POET'S INVITATION TO RICHARD STEELE, THE SECLUDED PARTY-WRITER AND MEMBER, TO COME AND LIVE WITH HIM, IN THE MINT 1714


Fit to be bound up with "The Crisis"

If thou canst lay aside a spendthrift's air,
And condescend to feed on homely fare,
Such as we minters, with ragouts unstored,
Will, in defiance of the law, afford:
Quit thy patrols with Toby's Christmas box,[1]
And come to me at The Two Fighting Cocks;
Since printing by subscription now is grown
The stalest, idlest cheat about the town;
And ev'n Charles Gildon, who, a Papist bred,
Has an alarm against that worship spread,
Is practising those beaten paths of cruising,
And for new levies on proposals musing.
    'Tis true, that Bloomsbury-squares a noble place:
But w...

Jonathan Swift

Inviting A Friend To Supper

Tonight, grave sir, both my poor house and I
Do equally desire your company;
Not that we think us worthy such a guest,
But that your worth will dignify our feast
With those that come, whose grace may make that seem
Something, which else could hope for no esteem.
It is the fair acceptance, sir, creates
The entertainment perfect; not the cates.
Yet shall you have, to rectify your palate,
An olive, capers, or some better salad
Ushering the mutton; with a short-legged hen,
If we can get her, full of eggs, and then
Lemons and wine for sauce; to these, a coney
Is not to be despaired of, for our money;
And though fowl, now, be scarce, yet there are clerks,
The sky not falling, think we may have larks.
Ill tell you of more, and lie, so you will come:
Of partridg...

Ben Jonson

Toland's Invitation To Dismal[1] To Dine With The Calves Head Club

Written A.D. 1712. - Stella.
Imitated from Horace, Lib. i, Epist. 5.

Toland, the Deist, distinguished himself as a party writer in behalf of the Whigs. He wrote a pamphlet on the demolition of Dunkirk, and another called "The Art of Reasoning," in which he directly charged Oxford with the purpose of bringing in the Pretender. The Earl of Nottingham, here, as elsewhere, called Dismal from his swarthy complexion, was bred a rigid High-Churchman, and was only induced to support the Whigs, in their resolutions against a peace, by their consenting to the bill against occasional conformity. He was so distinguished for regularity, as to be termed by Rowe
    "The sober Earl of Nottingham,
    Of sober sire descended." - HOR., Odes, ii, 4.
From these points of his character, we may estimate the severit...

Jonathan Swift

Horace, Lib. I, Epist. IX, Imitated. To The Right Honourable Mr. Harley

Dear Dick, how e'er it comes into his head,
Believes, as firmly as he does his creed,
That you and I, sir, are extremely great;
Though I plain Mat, you minister of state.
One word from me, without all doubt, he says,
Would fix his fortune in some little place.
Thus better than myself, it seems, he knows
How far my interest with my patron goes;
And answering all objections I can make,
Still plunges deeper in his dear mistake.

From this wild fancy, sir, there may proceed
One wilder yet, which I foresee, and dread;
That I, in fact, a real interest have,
Which to my own advantage I would save,
And, with the usual courtier's trick, intend
To serve myself, forgetful of my friend.

To shun this censure, I all shame lay by,
And make my reason with his ...

Matthew Prior

Invitation To Dinner. Addressed To Lord Lansdowne.

September, 1818.


Some think we bards have nothing real;
    That poets live among the stars so,
Their very dinners are ideal,--
    (And, heaven knows, too oft they are so,)--
For instance, that we have, instead
    Of vulgar chops and stews and hashes,
First course--a Phoenix, at the head.
    Done in its own celestial ashes;
At foot, a cygnet which kept singing
All the time its neck was wringing.
Side dishes, thus--Minerva's owl,
Or any such like learned fowl:
Doves, such as heaven's poulterer gets,
When Cupid shoots his mother's pets.
Larks stewed in Morning's roseate breath,
    Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendor;
And nightingales, berhymed to death--
    Like young pigs whipt to make them tender.

Such fare may suit ...

Thomas Moore

An Epistle To Fleetwood Shephard, Esq.

When crowding folks, with strange ill faces,
Were making legs, and begging places,
And some with patents, some with merit,
Tired out my good Lord Dorset's spirit:
Sneaking I stood amongst the crew,
Desiring much to speak with you.
I waited while the clock struck thrice,
And footman brought out fifty lies;
Till, patience vex'd, and legs grown weary,
I thought it was in vain to tarry!
But did opine it might be better,
By penny-post to send a letter;
Now, if you miss of this epistle,
I'm baulk'd again, and may go whistle.
My business, Sir, you'll quickly guess,
Is to desire some little place;
And fair pretensions I have for't,
Much need, and very small desert.
Whene'er I writ to you, I wanted;
I always begg'd, you always granted.
Now, as you t...

Matthew Prior