Upon This Passage In Scaligeriana

Les allemans ne ce soucient pas quel vin its boivent
pouveu que ce soit vin, ni quel Latin ils parletn
vue que ce soit Latin.

When you with High-Dutch Heeren dine,
Expect false Latin and stum'd wine:
They never taste who always drink;
They always talk who never think.

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 Epistle. Desiring The Queen's Picture, But Left Unfinished, By The Sudden News Of Her Majesty's Death

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

On A Fart - Let In The House Of Commons

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Cupid Turned Ploughman. - From Moschus

Matthew Prior, Simple Poetry

Songs Set To Music: 16. Set By Mr. Smith

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.

Breitmann in La Sorbonne

Der Breitmann sits in la Sorbonne,
A note-pook in his hand,
Tvas dere he vent to lectures,
Und in oldt Louis le Grand.
Ids more ash two und dwendy years
Since here I used mein pen;
Oh, where ish all de characders,
Dat I hafe known since denn?

Der cratest boet efer vas,
Der pest I efer known,
Vent lecdures here, too, shoost like me,
Le Sieur Fran?oys Villon.
He raise de teufel all arount,
He hear de Sorbonne chime;
Crate shpirid ender in mein heart,
Und mofe mein soul to rhyme.



Ballade.

Dictes moy in what shpirit land
Ish Clara Lafontaine?
Or Pomaré, or La Frisette,
Who blazed on soosh a train?
Shveet Echo flings de quesdion pack,
Oer lake or shdreamlet lone;
All eartly peauty fades afay,
...

Charles Godfrey Leland

Drinking Song, On the Excellence of Burgundy Wine

My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin,
Come, open the door to us, let us come in.
A score of stout fellows who think it no sin
If they toast till they're hoarse, and drink till they spin,
Hoofed it amain
Rain or no rain,
To crack your old jokes, and your bottle to drain.

Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets
As soon as his guts with its humour he wets,
The miser his gold, and the student his debts,
And the beggar his rags and his hunger forgets.
For there's never a wine
Like this tipple of thine
From the great hill of Nuits to the River of Rhine.

Outside you may hear the great gusts as they go
By Foy, by Duerne, and the hills of Lerraulx,
But the rain he may rain, and the wind he may blow,
If the Devil's above there's good liquor...

Hilaire Belloc

Breitmann In Holland

To Amsterd-m came Breitmann
All in de Kermes tide;
Yonge Maegden allegader
Filled de straat on afery side.
De meisjes in de straaten
Vere tantzin alle nacht long;
Dere vas kissen, dere vas trinken,
Mit a roar of Holland song.

Who went into de straaten
Ven de sonn had gone his day,
De Dootch gals quickly grapped him
Und tantzed him wild avay.
Dere was der Prinz von Capua,
Who fell among dese wags;
Dey tantzed him off in a carmagnole,
Und sent him home in rags.

Und den at afery gorner,
So peaudifool to see,
De volk vas bilin dough-nuts,
Or else vas fryin tea.
Und Kermes cakes mit boetry,
Vitch land-volk dinks a dreat,
Mit all of Barnums blayed out shows
In dents along de shdreet.

Id pring de tears to Bre...

Charles Godfrey Leland

Breitmann As An Uhlan. IV. Breitmann Takes the Town of Nancy

O hear a wondrous shdory
Vot soundet like romance,
How Breitmann mit four Uhlans
Vas dake de town of Nantz.
De Fräntschmen call it Nancy,
Und dey say its fery hard
Dat Nancy mit her soldiers
Vas getook py gorprals guard.

Dey dink id vas King Wilhelm
Ash Hans ride in de down,
Und like Odin in his glorie
Gazed derriply aroun.
Denn mit awfool condesenchen
He at de Fräntschmen shtare,
Und say, Ye wretsched shildren?
Abbortez mir vodre mère!

Hans mean de city Syndic,
Whom maire de Fräntschmen call;
So mit a tousand soldiers
Dey scort him to de Hall;
In de shair of shtade dey sot him,
Der maire coom to pe heard,
Und Hans glare at him fife minutes
Pefore he shbeak a word.

Den in iron dones he ootered:

Charles Godfrey Leland

To Henrietta,[1] On Her Departure For Calais.

When little people go abroad, wherever they may roam,
They will not just be treated as they used to be at home;
So take a few promiscuous hints, to warn you in advance,
Of how a little English girl will perhaps be served in France.

Of course you will be Frenchified; and first, it's my belief,
They'll dress you in their foreign style as à-la-mode as beef,
With a little row of beehives, as a border to your frock,
And a pair of frilly trousers, like a little bantam cock.

But first they'll seize your bundle (if you have one) in a crack,
And tie it with a tape by way of bustle on your back;
And make your waist so high or low, your shape will be a riddle,
For anyhow you'll never have your middle in the middle.

Your little English sandals for a while will hold together...

Thomas Hood

Anacreontic. "The Wisest Men Are Fools In Wine."

The wisest men are fools in wine,
Experience makes us think:
Its magic spells are so divine,
We reason--yet we drink!

How short's the longest life of man,
How soon its brightest laurels fade--
Then, as our life is but a span,
Let all its hours be joyous made.

Wine o'er the ardent restless mind
Entwines its poppy chain;
A solace, then, the wretched find.
In fictions of the brain.

Oh! as the charmed glass we sip,
We conquer care and pain:
It woos like woman's dewy lip,

To kiss--and come again!

Thomas Gent