fse Anzahl in Musik gesetzt worden. Alma, ein scherzhaftes Gedicht und Nachahmung des Hudibras, betrifft die Frage, wo der Sitz der Seele zu suchen sey? Solomon, ein aus 3 Büchern bestehendes Lehrgedicht on the Vanity of the world hat eine ermüdende Einförmigkeit. Siehe Johnson's lives of the English poets, Vol. 3. Die sämmtlichen Gedichte Prior's sind häufig erschienen, z. B. London 1754, 2 Vol. S., und nehmen den 30 und 31sten Band der Johnsonschen, den 47-49sten der Bellschen und einen Theil des 7ten Bandes der Andersonschen Sammlung ein. Ausser Johnson, haben auch Anderson und verschiedene andere sein Leben erzählt.

Sly Merry Andrew, the last Southwark fair

(At Barthol'mew he did not much appear,
So peevish was the edict of the mayor);

At Southwark, therefore, as his tricks he show'd,
To please our masters, and his friends the crowd;
A huge neat's tongue he is his right-hand held,
His left was with a good black-pudding fill'd.
With a grave look, in this odd equipage,
The clownish mimic traverses the stage.
Why how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll;
To-day's conceit, methinks, is something 'dull:
Come on, sir, to our worthy, friends explain,
What does your emblematic worship mean?
Quoth Andrew, honest English let us speak:
Your emble (what d'ye call't) is heathen Greek.
To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence:

*) Eine Beschreibung des Londoner Bartholomäusmarkts findet man im 7ten Stück der bekannten Zeitschrift London und Paris von 1798.,, Dieser Markt wird in Smithfield gehalten, und der Lard Mayor zeigt sich da in seiner ganzen Machtvollkommenheit. Da nun Southwark seine eigene, dem Stadtrathe von London nicht untergeordnete Gerichtsbarkeit hat, so findet das, was in Smithfield nicht geduldet wird, in Southwark, wo auch so ein Jahrmarkt gehalten wird, seine Aufnahme. Eine Übersetzung dieses launigen Stücks findet man in einer Note zum 5ten Gesang des neuen Amadis, von Wieland (s. dessen sämmtliche Werke, 4ter Band, S. 105.).

Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense.
That busy fool I was, which thou art now:
Desirous to correct, not knowing, how;
With very good design, but little wit,
Blaming or praising things, as I thought fit.
I for this conduct had' what I deserv'd;
And, dealing honestly, was almost starv'd.
But, thanks to my indulgent stars, I eat;
Since I have found the secret to be great.
O, dearest Andrew, says the humble droll,
Henceforth may
I obey, and thou control;
Provided thou impart thy useful skill.
Bow then, says Andrew; and, for once, I will.
Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says;
Sleep very much; think little; and talk less:
Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong;
But eat your pudding, slave; and hold your tongue!
A reverend prelate stopt his coach and six,

To laugh a little at our Andrew's tricks.

But, when he heard him give this golden rule,
Drive on, he cried; this fellow is no fool.

2) THE GARLAND.

The pride of every grove 1 chose,

The violet sweet, and lily fair,

The dappled pink, and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Cloe's hair.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The flowers less blooming than her face,
The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flowers she wore along the day:
And every nymph and shepherd said,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.

Undrest at evening, when she found

Their odours lost, their colours past;
She chang'd her look, and on the ground
Her garland and her eye she cast

252

That eye dropt, sense distinct and clear,
As any Muse's tongue could speak,
When from its lid a pearly tear

Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.

Dissembling what I knew too well,
My love, my life, said I, explain
This change of humour: pr'ythee tell:
That falling tear what does it mean?

She sigh'd; she smil'd: and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely moralist said;
See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,
See yonder, what a change is made.
Ah me! the blooming pride of May,
And that of Beauty, are but one:
At morn both flourish bright and gay;

Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.
At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung;

The amorous youth around her bow'd;
At night her fatal knell was rung;

I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud.

Such as she is, who died to-day:

Such I, alas! may be to-morrow:
Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display
The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow.

3) THE LADLE.

The Scepticks think, 'twas long ago,

Since gods came down incognito,
To see, who were their friends or foes,
And how our actions fell or rose,

That, since they gave things their beginning,
And set this whirligig a- spinning,
Supine they in their heav'n remain,
Exempt from passion and from pain,
And frankly leave us human elves,
To cut and shuffle for ourselves;
To stand or walk, to rise or trumble,
As matter and as motion jumble.

The poets now and painters hold
This thesis both absurd and bold,
And your good-natur'd gods, they say,
Descend some twice or thrice a- day:
Else all these things we toil so hard in,
Would not avail one single farthing;
For, when the hero we rehearse,
To grace his actions and our verse,
"Tis not by dint of human thought,.
That to his Latium he is brought:
Iris descends by fate's commands,
To guide his steps through foreign lands,
And Amphitrite clears the way
From rocks aud quicksands in the sea.
And if you see him in a sketch,
(Though drawn by Paulo or Carache)
He shows not half his force and strength,
Strutting in armour, and at length
That he may make his proper figure,
The piece must yet be four yards bigger;'
The Nymphs conduct him to the field,
One holds his sword, and one his shield;
Mars, standing by, asserts his quarrel,
And Fame flies after with a laurel.

These points, I say, of speculation
(As 'twere to save or sink the nation)
Men idly- learned will dispute,
Assert, object, confirm, refute.
Each, mighty angry, mighty right,
With equal arms sustains the fight,
'Till now no umpire can agree 'em:
So both draw off, and sing Te Deum.
Is it in equilibrio,

If deities descend, or no?

Then let th' affirmative prevail,

As requisite to form my tale;

For by all parties 'tis confest,
That those opinions are the best,

Which in their nature most conduce

To present ends and private use.

Two gods came therefore from above,

One Mercury, the other Jove,

The humour was (it seems) to know,
If all the favours they bestow,

Could from our own perverseness ease us,
And if our wish enjoy'd would please us.
Discoursing largely on this theme,
O'er hills and dales their godships came,
Till, well nigh tir'd at almost night,
They thought it proper to alight.

Note here, that it as true as odd is,
That in disguise a god or goddess
Exerts no supernatural powers,

But acts on maxims much like ours.

They spied at last a country farm,

Where all was snug and clean and warm;
For woods before and hills behind,

Secur'd it both from rain and wind:

Large oxen in the field were lowing:

Good grain was sow'd, good fruit was growing: Of last year's corn in barns great store,

Fat turkeys, gobbling at the door,

And wealth (in short) with peace consented,
That people here should live contented.
But did they in effect do so?

Have patience, friend, and thou shalt know.
The honest farmer and his wife,
To years declin'd from prime of life,
Had struggled with the marriage noose,
As almost every couple does,

Sometimes, my plague! sometimes, my darling!
Kissing to-day, to-morrow snarling ;

Jointly submitting to endure

That evil, which admits no cure.
Our gods the outward gate unbarr'd:
Our farmer met them in the yard;

Thought, they were folks, that lost their way,
And ask'd them civilly to stay,

Told them, for supper or for bed
They might go on, and be worse sped.

So said, so done. The gods consent:

All three into the parlour went.
They compliment; they sit; they chat,
Fight o'er the wars, reform the state: