Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Matthew Prior. 16641721425. On My Birthday, July 21
I, MY dear, was born to-day— | |
So all my jolly comrades say: | |
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth, | |
And ask to celebrate my birth: | |
Little, alas! my comrades know | 5 |
That I was born to pain and woe; | |
To thy denial, to thy scorn, | |
Better I had ne’er been born: | |
I wish to die, even whilst I say— | |
‘I, my dear, was born to-day.’ | 10 |
I, my dear, was born to-day: | |
Shall I salute the rising ray, | |
Well-spring of all my joy and woe? | |
Clotilda, thou alone dost know. | |
Shall the wreath surround my hair? | 15 |
Or shall the music please my ear? | |
Shall I my comrades’ mirth receive, | |
And bless my birth, and wish to live? | |
Then let me see great Venus chase | |
Imperious anger from thy face; | 20 |
Then let me hear thee smiling say— | |
‘Thou, my dear, wert born to-day.’ |