Songs Set To Music: 1. Set By Mr. Abel

Reading ends in melancholy,
Wine breeds vices and diseases,
Wealth is but care, and love but folly,
Only friendship truly pleases.
My wealth, my books, my flask, my Molly,
Farewell all if friendship ceases.

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

Songs Set To Music: 14. Set By Mr. Smith

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

To A Child Of Quality, Five Years Old. The Author Then Forty

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Cloe Jealous

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Full Oft Doth Matt. With Topaz Dine - In Chaucer's Style

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

English

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Songs Set To Music: 10. Set By Mr. Smith

Why, Harry, what ails you? why look you so sad?
To think and ne'er drink will make you stark mad.
'Tis the mistress, the friend, and the bottle, old boy,
Which create all the pleasure poor mortals enjoy;
But wine of the three's the most cordial brother,
For one it relieves, and it strengthens the other.

Matthew Prior

Songs Set To Music: 25.

Since, Moggy, I mun bid adieu,
How can I help despairing?
Let cruel Fate us still pursue,
There's nought more worth my caring.

'Twas she alone could calm my soul
When racking thoughts did grieve me;
Her eyes my trouble could control,
And into joys deceive me.

Farewell ye brooks! no more along
Your banks mun I be walking;
No more you'll hear my pipe or song,
Or pretty Moggy's talking.

But I by death an end will give
To grief since we mun sever;
For who can after parting live,
Ought to be wretched ever.

Matthew Prior

Songs Set To Music: 22. Set By Mr. De Fesch

In vain, alas! poor Strephon tries
To ease his tortured breast,
Since Amoret the cure denies,
And makes his pain a jest.

Ah! fair one, why to me so coy,
And why to him so true?
Who with more coldness slights the joy
Than I with love pursue.

Die, then, unhappy lover, die;
For since she gives thee death,
The world has nothing that can buy
A minute more of breath.

Yet though I could your scorn outlive,
'Twere folly, since to me
Not love itself a joy can give,
But, Amoret, in thee.

Matthew Prior

Songs Set To Music: 13. Set By Mr. De Fesch

Love! inform thy faithful creature
How to keep his fair one's heart;
Must it be by truth of nature,
Or by poor dissembling art?
Tell the secret, show the wonder,
How we both may gain our ends;
I am lost if we're asunder,
Ever tortured if we're friends.

Matthew Prior

Songs Set To Music: 19. Set By Mr. C. R.

Phillis, give this humour over,
We too long have time abused;
I shall turn an errant rover
If the favour's still refused.

Faith 'tis nonsense out of measure,
Without ending thus to see
Women forced to taste a pleasure
Which they love as well as we.

Let not pride and folly share you,
We were made but to enjoy;
Ne'er will Age or Censure spare you
E'er the more for being coy.

Never fancy time's before you;
Youth believe me will away;
Then, alas! who will adore you,
Or to wrinkles tribute pay?

All the swains on you attending
Show how much your charms deserve;
But, miser-like, for fear of spending
You amidst your plenty starve.

While a thousand freer lasses,
Who their youth and charms employ,
Though your b...

Matthew Prior

Songs Set To Music: 15. Set By Mr. De Fesch

Farewell, Amynta, we must part;
The charm has lost its power
Which held so fast my captived heart
Until this fatal hour.

Hadst thou not thus my love abused,
And used me ne'er so ill,
Thy cruelty I had excused,
And I had loved thee still.

But know, my soul disdain'd thy sway,
And scorns thy charms and thee,
To which each fluttering coxcomb may
As welcome be as me.

Think in what perfect bliss you reign'd,
How loved before thy fall,
And now, alas! how much disdain'd
By me, and scorn'd by all.

Yet thinking of each happy hour,
Which I with thee have spent,
So robs my rage of all its power,
That I almost relent.

But pride will never let me bow;
No more thy charms can move;
Yet thou art worth my pity now,

Matthew Prior