The Old Gentry

That all from Adam first began,
None but ungodly Whiston doubts,
And that his son and his son's son
Were all but ploughmen, clowns, and louts.

Each when his rustic pains began
To merit pleaded equal right;
'Twas only who left off at noon,
Or who went on to work till night.

But coronets we owe to crowns,
And favour to a court's affection;
By nature we are Adam's sons,
And sons of Anstis by election.

Kingsale! eight hundred years have roll'd
Since thy forefathers had the plough;
When this in story shall be told,
Add, that my kindred do so now.

The man who by his labour gets
His bread in independent state,
Who never begs, and seldom eats,
Himself can fix or change his fate.

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

A Better Answer

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

An Epistle To Fleetwood Shephard, Esq. Burleigh, May 14, 1689

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

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

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

The Lady Who Offers Her Looking-Glass To Venus

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

English

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An Epistle To Fleetwood Shephard, Esq. Burleigh, May 14, 1689

Sir,
As once a twelvemonth to the priest,
Holy at Rome, here Antichrist,
The Spanish king presents a jennet
To show his love, that's all that's in it;
For if his Holiness would thump
His reverend bum 'gainst horse's rump,
He might be 'quipp'd from his own stable
With one more white and eke more able.

Or as with gondolas and men his
Good excellence the duke of Venice
(I wish, for rhyme, it had been the king)
Sails out, and gives the Gulf a ring,
Which trick of state he wisely maintains,
Keeps kindness up 'twixt old acquaintance,
For else, in honest truth, the sea
Has much less need of gold than he.

Or, not to rove and pump one's fancy
For popish similes beyond sea,
As folks from mudwall'd tenement
Bring landlords pepper corn for ...

Matthew Prior

The Mice. A Tale - To Mr. Adrian Drift

Two mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion,
And, what is more, good education,
Frolic and gay, in infant years
Equally shared their parents' cares.
The sire of these two babes (poor creature)
Paid his last debt to human nature;
A wealthy widow left behind,
Four babes, three male, one female kind,
The sire being under ground, and buried,
'Twas thought his spouse would soon have married;
Matches proposed, and numerous suitors,
Most tender husbands, careful tutors,
She modestly refused, and show'd
She'd be a mother to her brood.

Mother, dear mother, that endearing thought
Has thousand and ten thousand fancies brought.
Tell me, oh! tell me (thou art now above)
How to describe thy true maternal love,
Thy early pangs, thy growing anxious cares,
Thy ...

Matthew Prior

New Creation Of Peers. Batch The First.

        "His 'prentice han'
        He tried on man,
        And then he made the lasses."




"And now," quoth the Minister, (eased of his panics,
    And ripe for each pastime the summer affords,)
"Having had our full swing at destroying mechanics,
    "By way of set-off, let us make a few Lords.

"'Tis pleasant--while nothing but mercantile fractures,
    "Some simple, some compound, is dinned in our ears--
"To think that, tho' robbed all coarse manufactures,
    "We still have our fine manufacture of Peers;--

"Those Gotielin productions which Kings take a pride
    "In engrossing the whole fabrication and trade of;
"Choice tapestry things very grand on one side,
    "But showing, on t'other, what rags they a...

Thomas Moore

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

Lollius

Why gird at Lollius if he care
To purchase in the citys sight,
With nard and roses for his hair,
The name of Knight?

Son of unmitigated sires
Enriched by trade in Afric corn,
His wealth allows, his wife requires,
Him to be born.

Him slaves shall serve with zeal renewed
At lesser wage for longer whiles,
And school- and station-masters rude
Receive with smiles.

His bowels shall be sought in charge
By learned doctors; all his sons
And nubile daughters shall enlarge
Their horizons.

For fierce she-Britons, apt to smite
Their upward-climbing sisters down,
Shall smooth their plumes and oft invite
The brood to town.

For these delights will he disgorge
The State enormous benefice,
But, by the head of either G...

Rudyard

To My Honoured Kinsman, John Dryden,[1] Of Chesterton, In The County Of Huntingdon, Esq.

    How bless'd is he who leads a country life,
    Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife!
    Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage,
    Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age:
    All who deserve his love, he makes his own;
    And, to be loved himself, needs only to be known.

        Just, good, and wise, contending neighbours come,
    From your award to wait their final doom;
    And, foes before, return in friendship home.
    Without their cost, you terminate the cause;
    And save the expense of long litigious laws:
    Where suits are traversed; and so little won,
    That he who conquers, is but last undone:
    Such are not your decrees; but so design'd,
    The sanction leaves a lasting peace behind;
    Like your own soul, sere...

John Dryden