While ev'ry Soul upon his Motions hung,
As tho' it were in tuneful Concert ftrung.
His Touch did ftrike the Fibres of the Heart,
And a like Trembling fecretly impart;
Where various Paffions did by Turns fucceed,
He made it chearful, and he made it bleed;
Could wind it up into a glowing Fire,
Then shift the Scene, and teach it to expire.
Oft have I feen him on a Publick Stage, Alone the gaping Multitude engage;
The Eyes and Ears of each Spectator draw,
Command their Thoughts, and give their Paffions Law;
While other Mufick in Oblivion drown'd,
Seem'd a dead Pulse, or a neglected Sound.
Alas! he's gone, our Great Apollo's dead, And all that's fweet and tuneful with him fled. with one universal Cry,
Laments its Lofs, and speaks his ELEGY.
Farewel, thou Author of refin'd Delight,
Too little known, too foon remov'd from Sight;
Thofe Fingers, which fuch Pleasure did convey,
Muft now become to ftupid Worms a PREY:
Thy grateful FIDDLE will for ever stand
A filent Mourner for its MASTER'S Hand:
Thy ART is only to be match'd Above,
Where Mufick reigns, and in that Mufick Love:
Where Thou wilt with the happy CHORUS join,
And quickly Thy melodious SouL refine
To the exalted PITCH of Harmony Divine.
Mr. PRIOR'S EPITAPH on Himfelf.
Obles and Heraulds, by your Leave,
Here lye the Bones of MATTHEW PRIOR,
A Son of Adam and of Eve;
Let BOURBON or NASSAU go higher.
OLD MATTHEW PRIOR, by your
Your Epitaph is fomewhat Odd;
Bourbon and You were Sons of Eve,
NASSAU's the Off-spring of a GOD.
The SONG of TROILUS. From Chaucer.
Fno Love is.
And if Love is
-what Thing, and which is He?
If Love be Good, from whence proceeds my Woe?
If it be ill, how can that All agree?
His bitter Potion I the fweetest think,
And ever thirst the more, the more I drink.
If willingly I bear the burning Charm,
Whence are my Wailings, and my deep Complaint?
If Harm is pleafing, why do I grieve the Harm?
Why with the Load unweary'd, am I faint?
Sweet Harm, how holds my Heart of thee fo much,
But that my Heart confents it fhould be fuch?
And if my Heart confent, and I agree,
The Folly of Complaint fair Wisdom binds Thus like a Boat all feerlefs in the Sea,
My Heart is tofs'd betwixt two jarring Winds. Alas! what wond'rous Woe poor Lovers try? For Heat of Cold, for Cold of Heat I dye.
torious BEAUTY by what potent Charm Doft thou the Soul of all its Force difarm? We bless thy Chains, abhor our Liberty,
And quit the uncontested Field to thee.
Whether we rash or calm Designs pursue,
Thine is the foft Temptation ftill in View;
For thee we fearch the wide Creation round,
But thou art no where in Perfection found;
Some Blemish ftill remains on mortal Pride,
And crowding Years its airy Boafts deride..
Triumphant BEAUTY fits in Flavia's Eyes,
But while we gaze, the trembling Luftre dies;
Thyrfis compleatly form'd with ev'ry Grace,
A faultlefs Shape, and an enchanting Face,
In all his Motions each becoming Air,
Greatness, and native Elegance appear,
Careless and free, in Life's deluding Bloom,
But envious DEATH threatens a hafty Doom;
Some gentle Mistress full of Love and Truth,
Shall foon lament the dear unrival'd Youth.
"Thou lovely, flatt'ring, tranfitory Thing,
"From what immenfe Perfection doft thou spring?
To what complete Original return,
While we thy vain Appearance only mourn?
Howe're our doating Thoughts mistake the Way,
To certain Blifs, thine is a friendly Ray,
That points the Paffage to unblemish'd Day.
Ye heav'nly Forms in all your Pride appear,
And fhew us what immortal BEAUTIES are,
What Life, what rofy Bloom your Faces wear!
Put on each filing Grace, and conq'ring Charm,
And all the Force of mortal Love difarm;
For still our restlefs Thoughts take glorious Aims,
Howe're feduc'd by thefe inferior Flames,
The leading Paffion, the fupreme Desire,
To things Divine and Infinite afpire.
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