THE FEMALE PHAETON

THUS Kitty, beautiful and young,

And wild as colt untamed, Bespoke the fair from which she sprung With little rage inflamed:

Inflamed with rage at sad restraint,
Which wise mamma ordained,

And sorely vex'd to play the saint,
Whilst wit and beauty reign'd.

"Shall I thumb holy books, confined
With Abigails, forsaken?
Kitty's for other things design'd,
Or I am much mistaken.

"Must Lady Jenny frisk about, And visit with her cousins?

At balls must she make all the rout,

And bring home hearts by dozens?

THE FEMALE PHAETON

"What has she better, pray, than I?
What hidden charms to boast,

That all mankind for her should die,
Whilst I am scarce a toast?

"Dearest mamma, for once let me,
Unchain'd, my fortune try;
I'll have my Earl as well as she,
Or know the reason why.

"I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score,

Make all her lovers fall;

They'll grieve I was not loosed before: She, I was loosed at all!"

Fondness prevail'd,

mamma gave way:

Kitty, at heart's desire,

Obtain'd the chariot for a day,

And set the world on fire.

MATTHEW PRIOR

ANSWER TO CHLOE JEALOUS

DEAR CHLOE, how blubber'd is that pre

face!

Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all curl'd:

Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and, as old Falst

says,

Let us e'er talk a little like folks of t

world.

How canst thou presume, thou hast leave destroy

The beauties which Venus but lent to t

keeping?

Those looks were design'd to inspire love a

joy;

More ordinary eyes may serve people

weeping.

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

Your judgment at once, and my passion,

wrong:

ANSWER TO CHLOE JEALOUS

You take that for fact, which will scarce be

found wit;

Ods 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:

I court others in verse but I love thee in

prose;

And they have my whimsies - but thou hast my heart.

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 't is his fancy to run; At night he declines on his Thetis' breast.

So when I am wearied with wandering all day; To thee, my delight, in the evening I come:

ANSWER TO CHLOE JEALOUS

No matter what beauties I saw in my way: They were but visits, but thou art my home.

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.

MATTHEW PRIOR