T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
To a Young Gentleman in Love
By Matthew Prior (1664–1721)(A Tale) FROM public noise and factious strife, | |
| From all the busy ills of life, | |
| Take me, my Celia, to thy breast, | |
| And lull my wearied soul to rest. | |
| For ever, in this humble cell, | 5 |
| Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell; | |
| None enter else, but Love—and he | |
| Shall bar the door, and keep the key. | |
| To painted roofs, and shining spires | |
| (Uneasy seats of high desires) | 10 |
| Let the unthinking many crowd, | |
| That dare be covetous and proud: | |
| In golden bondage let them wait, | |
| And barter happiness for state. | |
| But oh! my Celia, when thy swain | 15 |
| Desires to see a court again, | |
| May Heaven around this destin’d head | |
| The choicest of its curses shed! | |
| To sum up all the rage of Fate, | |
| In the two things I dread and hate; | 20 |
| Mayest thou be false, and I be great! | |
| Thus, on his Celia’s panting breast, | |
| Fond Celadon his soul express’d; | |
| While with delight the lovely maid | |
| Receiv’d the vows, she thus repaid: | 25 |
| Hope of my age, joy of my youth, | |
| Blest miracle of love and truth! | |
| All that could e’er be counted mine, | |
| My love and life, long since are thine: | |
| A real joy I never knew, | 30 |
| Till I believ’d thy passion true: | |
| A real grief I ne’er can find, | |
| Till thou prov’st perjur’d or unkind. | |
| Contempt, and poverty, and care, | |
| All we abhor, and all we fear, | 35 |
| Blest with thy presence, I can bear. | |
| Through waters, and through flames I’ll go, | |
| Sufferer and solace of thy woe: | |
| Trace me some yet unheard-of way, | |
| That I thy ardour may repay; | 40 |
| And make my constant passion known, | |
| By more than woman yet has done. | |
| Had I a wish that did not bear | |
| The stamp and image of my dear; | |
| I’d pierce my heart through every vein, | 45 |
| And die to let it out again. | |
| No; Venus shall my witness be, | |
| (If Venus ever lov’d like me) | |
| That for one hour I would not quit | |
| My shepherd’s arms, and this retreat, | 50 |
| To be the Persian monarch’s bride, | |
| Partner of all his power and pride; | |
| Or rule in regal state above, | |
| Mother of gods, and wife of Jove. | |
| O happy these of human race! | 55 |
| But soon, alas! our pleasures pass. | |
| He thank’d her on his bended knee; | |
| Then drank a quart of milk and tea: | |
| And leaving her ador’d embrace, | |
| Hasten’d to court, to beg a place. | 60 |
| While she, his absence to bemoan, | |
| The very moment he was gone, | |
| Call’d Thyrsis from beneath the bed! | |
| Where all this time he had been hid. | |
MORAL While men have these ambitious fancies; | 65 |
| And wanton wenches read romances; | |
| Our sex will—What? out with it. Lie; | |
| And theirs in equal strains reply. | |
| The moral of the tale I sing | |
| (A posy for a wedding ring) | 70 |
| In this short verse will be confin’d: | |
| Love is a jest, and vows are wind. | |