Bibo And Charon

When Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat,
As full of Champagne as an egg's full of meat,
He waked in the boat, and to Charon he said,
He would be row'd back, for he was not yet dead.
Trim the boat and sit quiet, stern Charon replied,
You may have forgot, you were drunk when you died.

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

On My Birthday, July 21

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

The New Year's Gift To Phyllis

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Cupid And Ganymede

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

In Imitation Of Anacreon

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

English

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A Quibbling Elegy On Judge Boat

To mournful ditties, Clio, change thy note,
Since cruel fate has sunk our Justice Boat;
Why should he sink, where nothing seem'd to press
His lading little, and his ballast less?
Tost in the waves of this tempestuous world,
At length, his anchor fix'd and canvass furl'd,
To Lazy-hill[1] retiring from his court,
At his Ring's end[2] he founders in the port.
With water[3] fill'd, he could no longer float,
The common death of many a stronger boat.
A post so fill'd on nature's laws entrenches:
Benches on boats are placed, not boats on benches.
And yet our Boat (how shall I reconcile it?)
Was both a Boat, and in one sense a pilot.
With every wind he sail'd, and well could tack:
Had many pendants, but abhorr'd a Jack.[4]
He's gone, although his friends began to hope...

Jonathan Swift

The New Charon:

UPON THE DEATH OF HENRY, LORD HASTINGS.

The musical part being set by Mr. Henry Lawes.

THE SPEAKERS,

CHARON AND EUCOSMIA.

Euc. Charon, O Charon, draw thy boat to th' shore,
    And to thy many take in one soul more.
Cha. Who calls? who calls? Euc. One overwhelm'd with ruth;
    Have pity either on my tears or youth,
    And take me in who am in deep distress;
    But first cast off thy wonted churlishness.
Cha. I will be gentle as that air which yields
    A breath of balm along the Elysian fields.
    Speak, what art thou? Euc. One once that had a lover,
    Than which thyself ne'er wafted sweeter over.
    He was---- Cha. Say what? Euc. Ah me, my woes are deep.
Cha. Prithee rel...

Robert Herrick

An Epitaph

Interr'd beneath this marble stone,
Lie saunt'ring Jack and idle Joan.
While rolling threescore years and one
Did round this globe their courses run;
If human things went ill or well;
If changing empires rose or fell;
The morning passed, the evening came,
And found this couple still the same.
They walk'd and eat, good folks: what then?
Why then they walk'd and eat again:
They soundly slept the night away:
They did just nothing all the day:
And having buried children four,
Would not take pains to try for more.
Nor sister either had, nor brother:
They seemed just tallied for each other.
Their moral and economy
Most perfectly they made agree:
Each virtue kept its proper bound,
Nor tresspass'd on the other's ground.
Nor fame, nor censure they r...

Matthew Prior

The Briny Grave

You wonder why so many would be buried in the sea,
In this world of froth and bubble,
But I dont wonder, for it seems to me
That it saves such a lot of trouble.
And there aint no undertaker,
Oh! there aint no order that your friends can give
On the quiet to the coffin-maker,
To a gimcrack coffin-maker,
They make no differ twixt the absentee swell
And the clerk that cut from a shortage,
Oh! there aint no pauper funer-el,
And there aint no impressive cortege.
It may be a chap from the forard crowd,
Or a member of the British Peerage,
But they sew his nibs in a canvas shroud
Just the same as the bloke from the steerage,
As that poor bloke from the steerage.
There aint no need for a gravedigger there,
For you dig your own grave! Lord love yer!...

Henry Lawson

An Ode - Inscribed To The Memory Of The Hon. Colonel George Villiers

Say, dearest Villiers, poor departed friend,
(Since fleeting life thus suddenly must end)
Say, what did all thy busy hopes avail,
That anxious thou from pole to pole didst sail,
Ere on thy chin the springing beard began
To spread a doubtful down and promise man?
What profited thy thoughts, and toils, and cares
In vigour more confirmed and riper years,
To wake ere morning-dawn to loud alarms,
And march till close of night in heavy arms,
To scorn the summer's suns and winter's snows,
And search through every clime thy country's foes?
That thou might'st Fortune to thy side engage,
That gentle Peace might quell Bellona's rage,
And Anna's bounty crown her soldier's hoary age?

In vain we think that free-will'd man has power
To hasten or protract th' appointed ...

Matthew Prior

To the Companions

How comes it that, at even-tide,
When level beams should show most truth,
Man, failing, takes unfailing pride
In memories of his frolic youth?

Venus and Liber fill their hour;
The games engage, the law-courts prove;
Till hardened life breeds love of power
Or Avarice, Age's final love.

Yet at the end, these comfort not
Nor any triumph Fate decrees
Compared with glorious, unforgot
Ten innocent enormities

Of frontless days before the beard,
When, instant on the casual jest,
The God Himself of Mirth appeared
And snatched us to His heaving breast

And we not caring who He was
But certain He would come again
Accepted all He brought to pass
As Gods accept the lives of men...

Then He withdrew from sight and speech,

Rudyard