With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;

He raised a mortal to the skies,

She drew an angel down.

GRAND CHORUS

At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame:

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarged the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,

170

With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before,

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;

He raised a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

UNDER MR. MILTON'S PICTURE

175

180

Three poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpassed;
The next, in majesty; in both the last.
The force of Nature could no further go; 5

To make a third, she joined the former two.

Mattbew Prior

1664-1721

TO A CHILD OF QUALITY FIVE YEARS OLD. MDCCIV

THE AUTHOR THEN FORTY

(From Poems on Several Occasions, 1709)

Lords, knights, and 'squires the numerous band,
That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,
Were summoned by her high command,
To show their passions by their letters.

5 My pen among the rest I took,

10

Lest those bright eyes that cannot read
Should dart their kindling fires, and look
The power they have to be obeyed.

Nor quality, nor reputation,

Forbid me yet my flame to tell,
Dear five years old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.

For, while she makes her silk-worm's beds,
With all the tender things I swear;
15 Whilst all the house my passion reads,
In papers round her baby's hair;

20

She may receive and own my flame,

For though the strictest prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous dame,

And I for an unhappy poet.

Then, too, alas! when she shall tear

The lines some younger rival sends;
She'll give me leave to write, I fear,

And we shall still continue friends.

25 For, as our different ages move,

'Tis so ordained, (would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love,

When she begins to comprehend it.

A BETTER ANSWER

Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face!

Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled: Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says),

Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

5 How cans't thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy

10

The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping?

Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy: More ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping.

To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgment at once, and my passion you

wrong:

You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit:

Od's life! must one swear to the truth of a

song?

What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows

The difference there is betwixt nature and art: 15 I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose: And they have my whimsies; but thou hast my

heart.

20

The god of us verse-men (you know, Child) the

sun,

How after his journeys he sets up his rest; If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run; At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast.

So when I am wearied with wandering all day; To thee, my delight, in the evening I come: No matter what beauties I saw in my way: They were but my visits, but thou art my home. 25 Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war; And let us like Horace and Lydia agree: For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poet sublimer than me.

Joseph Addison

1672-1719

ODE

THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT

(1712)
I.

The spacious firmament on high,

With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim:

5 Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.

II.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,

10 The moon takes up the wondrous tale,

And, nightly, to the listening earth,
Repeats the story of her birth:

While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
15 Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

III.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What though nor real voice nor sound
20 Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."

John Gay

1688-1732

FABLE XVIII

THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERYBODY

(From Fables, 1727)

Lest men suspect your tale untrue,

Keep probability in view.

The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.

5 Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes ev'n his real courage doubted.

But flattery never seems absurd;
The flatter'd always take your word:
Impossibilities seem just:

10 They take the strongest praise on trust.