Vice has lost its very name,
Skill and cozenage thought the same;
Only playing well the game.
Foul contrivances we see
Call'd but ingenuity:
Ample fortunes often made
Out of frauds in every trade,
Which an awkward child afford
Enough to wed the greatest lord.
The miser starves to raise a son,
But, if once the fool is gone,
Years of thrift scarce serve a day,
Rake-hell squanders all away.
Husbands seeking for a place,
Or toiling for their pay;
While the wives undo their race
By petticoats and play;
Breeding boys to drink and dice,
Carrying girls to comedies,
Where mama's intrigues are shown,
Which ere long will be their own.
Having first at sermon slept,
Tedious day is weekly kept
By worse hypocrites than men,
Till Monday comes to cheat again.
Ev'n among the noblest-born,
Moral virtue is a scorn;
Gratitude, but rare at best,
And fidelity a jest.
All our wit but party-mocks,
All our wisdom raising stocks:
Counted folly to defend
Sinking side, or falling friend.
Long an officer may serve,
Prais'd and wounded, he may starve:
No receipt, to make him rise,
Like inventing loyal lies.
We whose ancestors have shin'd
In arts of peace, and fields of fame,
To ill and idleness inclin'd,
Now are grown a public shame.
Fatal that intestine jar,
Which produc'd our civil war!
Ever since, how sad a race!
Senseless, violent, and base!
From all uneasy passions free,
Revenge, ambition, jealousy,
Contented I had been too blest,
If love and you had let me rest;
Yet that dull life I now despise ;
Safe from your eyes,
I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys.
Amidst a thousand kind desires,
Which beauty moves, and love inspires
Such pangs I feel of tender fear,
No heart so soft as mine can bear.
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms;
Such are your charms,
"Tis worth a life to die within your arms.
Matthew Prior ward 1664, nach Einigen zu London, nach Anderen zu Winbourne in Dorsetshire geboren. Sein Vater, ein Tischler, starb schon früh und sein Oheim, ein Weinschenk, nahm ihn zu sich und bestimmte ihn für sein Geschäft, liess ihm jedoch eine gute Erziehung geben. Durch Zufall wurde Graf Dorset aufmerksam auf seine Fähigkeiten und sandte ihn auf seine Kosten nach Cambridge. Prior widmete sich darauf dem Staatsdienste, begleitete den Grafen Berkeley als Gesandtschaftssecretair 1690 zu dem Haager-Congress, wurde von Wilhelm I. zum Kammerherrn erhoben, 1696 als Gesandtschaftssecretair bei dem Friedensschlusse zu Ryswik verwendet und 1697 als Staatssecretair nach Irland, so wie bald nachher als Gesandtschaftssecretair nach Frankreich gesandt. 1700 trat er als Mitglied für East-Grinstead in das Parlament. 1711 ging er dagegen
als Gesandter wieder nach Frankreich, wo er bis zum Tode der Königin Anna blieb. Als jedoch die Whigs, deren Partei er verlassen, wieder die Oberhand gewannen, ward er 1715 in den Kerker geworfen und sogar von der Amnestie ausgeschlossen und erhielt erst 1717 seine Freiheit wieder. Er zog sich nun auf das Land zurück und starb am 18. September 1721 zu Wimpole, dem Landsitze des Grafen von Oxford. Seine irdischen Ueberreste fanden eine Ruhestätte in der Westminster - Abtei.
Prior veranstaltete selbst eine Sammlung seiner Poesieen; sie erschien 1718 zu London in Folio unter dem Titel: Poems on several occasions, und ist seitdem öfter wieder aufgelegt worden. Ihren Inhalt bilden zwei didactische Gedichte: Alma und Solomon, ein erzählendes: Henry and Emma, kleinere Erzählungen, Oden, Lieder, Epigramme u. s. w. Er war ganz ein Dichter wie ihn seine Zeit verlangte, sinnlich, leichtfertig, elegant, witzig und gewandt. Tieferes darf man daher bei ihm nicht suchen, denn selbst hinter seinen Lehrgedichten steckt der sensualistische Schalk, aber seine Anmuth und Grazie, so wie seine natürliche Lebhaftigkeit erfreuen überall, wo er die Schranken der Sitte nicht überschreitet. In Prosa hinterliess er eine Geschichte seiner Zeit.
Select Passages from Henry and Emma.
A falconer Henry is, when Emma hawks:
With her of tarsels and of lures he talks.
Upon his wrist the towering merlin stands,
Practis'd to rise, and stoop at her commands.
And when superior now the bird has flown,
And headlong brought the tumbling quarry down;
With humble reverence he accosts the fair,
And with the honour'd feather decks her hair.
Yet still, as from the sportive field she goes,
His down-cast eye reveals his inward woes;
And by his look and sorrow is exprest,
A nobler game pursued than bird or beast.
A shepherd now along the plain he roves;
And, with his jolly pipe, delights the groves.
The neighbouring swains around the stranger
throng,
Or to admire, or emulate his song:
While with soft sorrow he renews his lays,
Nor heedful of their envy, nor their praise.
But, soon as Emma's eyes adorn the plain,
His notes he raises to a nobler strain,
With dutiful respect, and studious fear;
Lest any careless sound offend her ear.
A frantic gipsey now, the house he haunts,
And in wild phrases speaks dissembled wants.
But, when bright Emma would her fortune know,
A softer look unbends his opening brow:
With trembling awe he gazes on her eye,
And in soft accents forms the kind reply;
That she shall prove as fortunate as fair;
A Passage from Solomon.
This Abra then
I saw her; 'twas humanity; it gave
Some respite to the sorrows of my slave.
Her fond excess proclaim'd her passion true;
And generous pity to that truth was due.
Well I entreated her, who well deserved;
I call'd her often; for she often served.
Use made her person easy to my sight;
And ease insensibly produced delight.
Whene'er I revell'd in the women's bowers
(For first I sought her but at looser hours)
The apples she had gather'd smelt most sweet:
The cake she kneaded was the savoury meat:
But fruits their odour lost, and meats their taste,
If gentle Abra had not deck'd the feast.
Dishonour'd did the sparkling goblet stand,
Unless received from gentle Abra's hand:
And Hymen's choicest gifts are all reserv'd for And, when the Virgins form'd the evening choir,
Now oft' had Henry chang'd his sly disguise,
Unmark'd by all but beauteous Emma's eyes;
Oft' had found means alone to see the dame,
And at her feet to breathe his amorous flame;
Raising their voices, to the Master-lyre,
Too flat I thought this voice, and that too shrill:
One show'd too much, and one too little skill;
Nor could my soul approve the Music's tone;
'Till all was hush'd, and Abra sung alone.
Fairer she seem'd, distinguish'd from the rest,
And better mien disclos'd, as better drest.
A bright tiara, round her forehead ty'd,
To juster bounds confin'd its rising pride;
The blushing ruby on her snowy breast,
Render'd its panting whiteness more confess'd:
Bracelets of pearl gave roundness to her arm
And every gem augmented every charm.
His senses pleas'd, her beauty still improv'd;
And she more lovely grew, as more belov'd.
Thy myrtles strow, thy odors burn;
And meet thy fav'rite nymph in state.
Kind goddess, to no other powers
Let us to-morrow's blessing own:
Thy darling loves shall guide the hours:
And all the day be thine alone.
If wine and music have the power,
To ease the sickness of the soul;
Let Phoebus every string explore;
And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl.
Let them their friendly aid employ,
To make my Cloe's absence light;
And seek for pleasure to destroy
The sorrows of this live-long night.
But she to-morrow will return;
Venus, be thou to-morrow great;
In vain you tell your parting lover,
You wish fair winds may waft him over.
Alas! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain,
From slighted vows, and cold disdain?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempest loose:
That, thrown again upon the coast,
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain;
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted vows, and cold disdain.
John Pomfret wurde 1667 zu Luton in Bedfordshire, wo sein Vater Prediger war, geboren, studirte zu Cambridge und trat dann in den geistlichen Stand. Eine falsch ausgelegte Stelle in seinem Gedichte the Choice hinderte aber seine Beförderung, obgleich er sowohl durch sein Leben wie durch seine Erklärungen jede Missdeutung widerlegte. Als er sich zu diesem Zwecke eigens nach London begeben hatte, ward er hier von den Blattern überfallen und starb 1703.
Seine 1699 erschienenen Gedichte (London, ein Bd. in 8) fanden zu ihrer Zeit grossen Beifall und haben sich im Andenken sciner Nation erhalten. Er ist im Geschmack seiner Zeit elegant, glücklich in Beschreibungen und gewandt in Behandlung der Form, aber weder warm noch tief.
Die falsch ausgelegte Stelle in seinem besten Gedichte the Choice, sind gegen den Schluss desselben die vier Zeilen, welche mit den Worten beginnen: And as I near approach'd etc.
If Heaven the grateful liberty would give,
That I might choose my method how to live;
And all those hours propitious Fate should lend,
In blissful ease and satisfaction spend;
Near some fair town I'd have a private seat,
Built uniform, not little nor too great;
Better, if on a rising ground it stood;
On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood.
It should within no other things contain,
But what are useful, necessary, plain:
Methinks 'tis nauseous, and I'd ne'er endure
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture.
A little garden, grateful to the eye;
And a cool rivulet run murmuring by:
On whose delicious banks a stately row
Of shady limes, or sycamores should grow.
At th' end of which a silent study plac'd,
Should be with all the noblest authors grac'd:
Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines
Immortal wit, and solid learning, shines;
Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's soft passion knew:
He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
In which strong art with stronger nature joins,
Must grant his fancy does the best excel;
His thoughts so tender, and express'd so well:
With all those moderns, men of steady sense,
Esteem'd for learning and for eloquence.
In some of these, as fancy should advise,
I'd always take my morning exercise:
For sure no minutes bring us more content,
Than those in pleasing, useful studies spent.
I'd have a clear and competent estate,
That I might live genteelly, but not great:
As much as I could moderately spend;
A little more, sometimes t' oblige a friend.
Nor should the sons of poverty repine
Prudence and wisdom to direct her wit:
Courage to look bold danger in the face;
No fear, but only to be proud, or base;
Quick to advise, by an emergence prest,
To give good counsel, or to take the best.
I'd have th' expression of her thoughts be such,
She might not seem reserv'd, nor talk too much:
That shews a want of judgment, and of sense;
More than enough is but impertinence.
Her conduct regular, her mirth refin'd;
Civil to strangers, to her neighbours kind;
Averse to vanity, revenge, aud pride;
In all the methods of deceit untried:
So faithful to her friend, and good to all,
No censure might upon her actions fall:
Then would ev'n envy be compell'd to say,
She goes the least of womankind astray.
To this fair creature I'd sometimes retire;
Her conversation would new joys inspire;
Give life an edge so keen, no surly care
Would venture to assault my soul, or dare,
Near my retreat, to hide one secret snare.
But so divine, so noble a repast
I'd seldom, and with moderation, taste:
For highest cordials all their virtue lose,
By a too frequent and too bold a use;
And what would cheer the spirits in distress,
Too much at fortune, they should taste of mine; Ruins our health, when taken to excess.
And all that objects of true pity were,
I'd be concern'd in no litigious jar;
Should be reliev'd with what my wants could Belov'd by all, not vainly popular.
For that our Maker has too largely given,
Should be return'd in gratitude to Heaven.
A frugal plenty should my table spread;
Enough to satisfy, and something more,
To feed the stranger, and the neighbouring poor.
Strong meat indulges vice, and pampering food
Creates diseases, and inflames the blood,
But what's sufficient to make nature strong,
And the bright lamp of life continue long,
I'd freely take; and, as I did possess,
The bounteous Author of my plenty bless.
Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge,
I'd choose
(For who would so much satisfaction lose,
As witty nymphs, in conversation, give)
Near some obliging modest fair to live:
For there's that sweetness in a female mind,
Which in a man's we cannot hope to find;
That, by a secret, but a powerful art,
Winds up the spring of life, and does impart
Fresh vital heat to the transported heart.
I'd have her reason all her passion sway:
Easy in company, in private gay:
Coy to a fop, to the deserving free;
Still constant to herself, and just to me.
A soul she should have for great actions fit;
Whate'er assistance I had power to bring,
T'oblige my country, or to serve my king,
Whene'er they call, I'd readily afford
My tongue, my pen, my counsel, or my sword.
Law-suits I'd shun, with as much studious care,
As I would dens where hungry lions are;
And rather put up injuries, than be
A plague to him, who'd be a plague to me.
I value quiet at a price too great,
To give for my revenge so dear a rate:
For what do we by all our bustle gain,
But counterfeit delight for real pain?
If Heaven a date of many years would give,
Thus I'd in pleasure, ease and plenty live.
And as I near approach'd the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
Whilst I did for a better state prepare.
Then I'd not be with any trouble vex'd,
Nor have the evening of my days perplex'd;
But by a silent and a peaceful death,
Without a sigh, resign my aged breath.
And, when committed to the dust, I'd have
Few tears, but friendly, dropt into my grave;
Then would my exit so propitious be,
All men would wish to live and die like me.
To his Friend inclined to marry.
Too little is as dangerous as too much.
But chiefly let her humour close with thine,
I would not have you, Strephon, choose a mate, Unless where your's does to a fault incline;
From too exalted, or too mean a state;
For in both these we may expect to find
A creeping spirit, or a haughty mind.
Who moves within the middle region, shares
The least disquiets, and the smallest cares.
Let her extraction with true lustre shine;
If something brighter, not too bright for thine:
Her education liberal, not great;
Neither inferior nor above her state.
Let her have wit; but let that wit be free
From affectation, pride, or pedantry:
For the effect of woman's wit is such,
The least disparity in this destroys,
Like sulphurous blasts, the very buds of joys.
Her person amiable, straight, and free
From natural, or chance deformity.
Let not her years exceed, if equal thine;
For women past their vigour, soon decline:
Her fortune competent; and, if thy sight
Can reach so far, take eare 'tis gather'd right.
If thine's enough, then her's may be the less:
Do not aspire to riches in excess.
For that which makes our lives delightful prove,
Is a genteel sufficiency and love.
Jonathan Swift, der berühmteste politische Satyriker der Engländer, ward am 30. November 1667, wahrscheinlich in Dublin, englischen Eltern geboren. Er studirte in Dublin, zeichnete sich aber so wenig aus, dass ihm das Baccalaureat nur aus besonderer Gunst (by special favour) ertheilt wurde. Sir William Temple nahm sich nachher seiner an, aber es wollte ihm im Staatsdienste nicht glücken und er studirte daher nochmals zu Oxford Theologie und erhielt eine Pfarre in Irland, die er aber wieder aufgab und Secretair des Lord Berkeley wurde. Später in seinen Hoffnungen getäuscht, nahm er die Pfarre zu Caracor in Irland an und ward endlich 1713 Dechant von St. Patrick in Dublin. Anfangs durchaus vom Volke gehasst, wusste er sich durch seine Schriften zur Vertretung der Rechte desselben, die allgemeine Gunst im höchsten Grade zu erwerben. Sein Verhältniss zu den beiden von ihm auch in seinen Gedichten gefeierten Frauen, Stella (einer Mrs. Johnson, mit der er heimlich verheirathet war, was er aber nie anerkannte und worüber sie aus Gram starb) und Vanessa (einer Miss Vanhomrigh, die ihn liebte aber als sie es ihm erklärte von ihm mit der Bemerkung zurückgewiesen wurde, er sei schon vermählt, was ihr ebenfalls das Herz brach) schwebt zu sehr im Dunkel und ist zu verschiedenartig dargestellt worden, um es mehr als vorübergehend zu erwähnen. Nach Stella's Tode (1727) lebte er sehr zurückgezogen bis 1736, wo er das Unglück hatte, blödsinnig zu werden. In diesem Zustande starb er auch, während des Octobers 1744. Er ward in der Kathedrale von Dublin beigesetzt.
Die beste Ausgabe von Swift's Werken besorgte Walter Scott, Edinburgh 1814 fgde 19 Bde in 8.; seine Gedichte, von denen hier allein die Rede sein kann, bilden nur den kleinsten Theil derselben; (sie finden sich auch im 5. Bde der Anderson'schne, im 10. Bde der Johnson'schen und im 16. der Bell'schen Sammlung) und sind das Schwächste, was dieser sonst so bedeutende Geist geschaffen hat. Zwar zeichnen sie sich durch grosse Gewandtheit in der Behandlung, Lebendigkeit, Leichtigkeit, Kraft und Witz aus, aber sie sind meist nur hingeworfene Kinder der Gelegenheit und der in ihnen so vielfach zur Schau getragene Cynismus, schreckt den gebildeten Leser nur zu oft zurück. Wir haben uns daher auch genöthigt gesehen unsere Auswahl aus derselben mehr zu beschränken als es sonst bei einem so hervorragenden Talente der Fall gewesen wäre.
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