The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume IV.Cibber, Theophilus
General
The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume IV.
Cibber, Theophilus
Poets, English -- Biography -- Early works to 1800; Poets, Irish -- Biography -- Early works to 1800
Methinks, we're in the like condition,
As at the treaty of partition;
That stroke, for all King William's care,
Begat another tedious war.
Matthew, who knew the whole intrigue,
Ne'er much approv'd that mystic league;
In the vile Utrecht treaty too,
Poor man! he found enough to do.
Sometimes to me he did apply;
But downright Dunstable was I,
And told him where they were mistaken,
And counsell'd him to save his bacon:
But (pass his politics and prose)
I never herded with his foes;
Nay, in his verses, as a friend,
I still found something to commend.
Sir, I excus'd his Nut-brown maid;
Whate'er severer critics said:
Too far, I own, the girl was try'd:
The women all were on my side.
For Alma I return'd him thanks,
I lik'd her with her little pranks;
Indeed, poor Solomon, in rhime,
Was much too grave to be sublime.
Pindar and Damon scorn transition,
So on he ran a new division;
'Till, out of breath, he turn'd to spit:
(Chance often helps us more than wit)
T'other that lucky moment took,
Just nick'd the time, broke in, and spoke.
Of all the gifts the gods afford
(If we may take old Tully's word)
The greatest is a friend, whose love
Knows how to praise, and when reprove;
From such a treasure never part,
But hang the jewel on your heart:
And pray, sir (it delights me) tell;
You know this author mighty well--
Know him! d'ye question it? ods fish!
Sir, does a beggar know his dish?
I lov'd him, as I told you, I
Advis'd him--here a stander-by
Twitch'd Damon gently by the cloke,
And thus unwilling silence broke:
Damon, 'tis time we should retire,
The man you talk with is Matt. Prior.
Patron, thro' life, and from thy birth my friend,
Dorset, to thee this fable let me send:
With Damon's lightness weigh thy solid worth;
The foil is known to set the diamond forth:
Let the feign'd tale this real moral give,
How many Damons, how few Dorsets live!
Mr. Prior, after the fatigue of a length of years past in various
services of action, was desirous of spending the remainder of his days
in rural tranquility, which the greatest men of all ages have been
fond of enjoying: he was so happy as to succeed in his wish, living a
very retired, and contemplative life, at Downhall in Essex, and found,
as he expressed himself, a more solid, and innocent satisfaction among
woods, and meadows, than he had enjoyed in the hurry, and tumults
of the world, the courts of Princes, or the conducting foreign
negotiations; and where as he melodiously sings,
The remnant of his days he safely past,
Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast;
He made his wish with his estate comply,
Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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