The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland/Volume 4/Matthew Prior
Matthew Prior, Eſq;
This celebrated poet was the ſon of Mr. George Prior, citizen of London, who was by profeſſion a Joiner. Our author was born in 1664. His father dying when he was very young, left him to the care of an uncle, a Vintner near Charing-Croſs, who diſcharged the truſt that was repoſed in him, with a tenderneſs truly paternal, as Mr. Prior always acknowledged with the higheſt profeſſions of gratitude. He received part of his education at Weſtminſter ſchool, where he diſtinguiſhed himſelf to great advantage, but was afterwards taken home by his uncle in order to be bred up to his trade. Notwithſtanding this mean employment, to which Mr. Prior ſeemed now doomed, yet at his leiſure hours he proſecuted his ſtudy of the claſſics, and eſpecially his favourite Horace, by which means he was ſoon taken notice of, by the polite company, who reſorted to his uncle’s houſe. It happened one day, that the earl of Dorſet being at his Tavern, which he often frequented with ſeveral gentlemen of rank, the diſcourſe turned upon the Odes of Horace; and the company being divided in their ſentiments about a paſſage in that poet, one of the gentlemen ſaid, I find we are not like to agree in our criticiſms, but, if I am not miſtaken, there is a young fellow in the houſe, who is able to ſet us all right: upon which he named Prior, who was immediately ſent for, and deſired to give his opinion of Horace’s meaning in the Ode under conſideration; this he did with great modeſty, and ſo much to the ſatisfaction of the company, that the earl of Dorſet, from that moment, determined to remove him from the ſtation in which he was, to one more ſuited to his genius; and accordingly procured him to be ſent to St. John’s College in Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1686, and afterwards became fellow of the College.
During his reſidence in the univerſity, he contracted an intimate friendſhip with Charles Montague, eſq; afterwards earl of Hallifax, in conjunction with whom he wrote a very humorous piece, entitled The Hind and Panther tranſverſed to the ſtory of the Country Mouſe, and the City Mouſe, printed 1687 in 4to. in anſwer to Mr. Dryden’s Hind and the Panther, publiſhed the year before.
Upon the revolution Mr. Prior was brought to court by his great patron the earl of Dorſet, by whoſe intereſt he was introduced to public employment, and in the year 1690 was made ſecretary to the earl of Berkley, plenipotentiary to King William and Queen Mary at the Congreſs at the Hague.
In this ſtation he acquitted himſelf ſo well, that he was afterwards appointed ſecretary to the earls of Pembroke, and Jerſey, and Sir Joſeph Williamſon, ambaſſadors, and plenipotentiaries, at the treaty of Ryſwick 1697, as he was likewiſe in 1698 to the earl of Portland, ambaſſador to the court of France. While he was in that kingdom, one of the officers of the French King’s houſhold, ſhewing him the royal apartments, and curioſities at Verſailles, eſpecially the paintings of Le Brun, wherein the victories of Lewis XIV. are deſcribed, aſked him, whether King William’s actions are to be ſeen in his palace? ‘No Sir, replied Mr. Prior, the monuments of my maſter’s actions are to be ſeen every where, but in his own houſe.’
In the year 1697 Mr. Prior was made ſecretary of ſtate for Ireland, and in 1700 was created maſter of arts by Mandamus, and appointed one of the lords commiſſioners of trade and plantations, upon the reſignation of Mr. Locke. He was alſo Member of Parliament for Eaſt-Grinſtead in Suſſex. In 1710 he was ſuppoſed to have had a ſhare in writing the Examiner, and particularly a Criticiſm in it upon a Poem of Dr. Garth to the earl of Godolphin, taken notice of in the life of Garth.
About this time, when Godolphin was defeated by Oxford, and the Tories who had long been eclipſed by the luſtre of Marlborough, began again to hold up their heads, Mr. Prior and Dr. Garth eſpouſed oppoſite intereſts; Mr. Prior wrote for, and Garth againſt the court. The Dr. was ſo far honeſt, that he did not deſert his patron in diſtreſs; and notwithſtanding the cloud which then hung upon the party, he addreſſed verſes to him, which, however they may fail in the poetry, bear ſtrong the marks of gratitude, and honour.
While Mr. Prior was thus very early initiated in public buſineſs, and continued in the hurry of affairs for many years, it mull appear not a little ſurprizing, that he ſhould find ſufficient opportunities to cultivate his poetical talents, to the amazing heighth he raiſed them. In his preface to his poems, he ſays, that poetry was only the product of his leiſure hours; that he had commonly buſineſs enough upon his hands, and, as he modeſtly adds, was only a poet by accident; but we muſt take the liberty of differing from him in the laſt particular, for Mr. Prior ſeems to have received from the muſes, at his nativity, all the graces they could well bellow on their greateſt favourite.
We muſt not omit one inſtance in Mr. Prior’s conduct, which will appear very remarkable: he was choſen a member of that Parliament which impeached the Partition Treaty, to which he himſelf had been ſecretary; and though his ſhare in that tranſaction was conſequently very conſiderable, yet he joined in the impeachment upon an honeſt principle of conviction, that exceptionable meaſures attended it.
The lord Bolingbroke, who, notwithſtanding many exceptions made both to his conduct, and ſentiments in other inſtances, yet muſt be allowed to be an accompliſhed judge of fine talents, entertained the higheſt eſteem for Mr. Prior, on account of his ſhining abilities. This noble lord, in a letter dated September 10, 1712, addreſſed to Mr. Prior, while he was the Queen’s miniſter, and plenipotentiary at the court of France, pays him the following compliment; ‘For God’s ſake, Matt, hide the nakedneſs of thy country, and give the beſt turn thy fertile brain will furniſh thee with, to the blunders of thy countrymen, who are not much better politicians, than the French are poets.’ His lordſhip thus concludes his epiſtle; ‘It is near three o’ clock in the morning, I have been hard at work all day, and am not yet enough recovered to bear much fatigue; excuſe therefore the confuſedneſs of this ſcroll, which is only from Harry to Matt, and not from the ſecretary to the miniſter. Adieu, my pen is ready to drop out of my hand, it being now three o’clock in the morning; believe that no man loves you better, or is more faithfully yours, &c.
There are ſeveral other letters from Bolingbroke to Prior, which, were it neceſſary, we might inſert as evidences of his eſteem for him; but Mr. Prior was in every reſpect ſo great a man, that the eſteem even of lord Bolingbroke cannot add much to the luſtre of his reputation, both as a ſtateſman, and a poet. Mr. Prior is repreſented by thoſe who knew, and have wrote concerning him, as a gentleman, who united the elegance and politeneſs of a court, with the ſcholar, and the man of genius. This repreſentation, in general, may be juſt, yet it holds almoſt invariably true, that they who have riſen from low life, ſtill retain ſome traces of their original. No cultivation, no genius, it ſeems, is able entirely to ſurmount this: There was one particular in which Mr. Prior verified the old proverb.
The ſame woman who could charm the waiter in a tavern, ſtill maintained her dominion over the embaſſador at France. The Chloe of Prior, it ſeems, was a woman in this ſtation of life; but he never forſook her in the heighth of his reputation. Hence we may obſerve, that aſſociations with women are the moſt laſting of all, and that when an eminent ſtaton raiſes a man above many other acts of condeſcenſion, a miſtreſs will maintain her influence, charm away the pride of greatneſs, and make the hero who rights, and the patriot who ſpeaks, for the liberty of his country, a ſlave to her. One would imagine however, that this woman, who was a Butcher’s wife, muſt either have been very handſome, or have had ſomething about her ſuperior to people of her rank: but it ſeems the caſe was otherwiſe, and no better reaſon can be given for Mr. Prior’s attachment to her, but that ſhe was his taſte. Her huſband ſuffered their intrigue to go on unmoleſted; for he was proud even of ſuch a connexion as this, with ſo great a man as Prior; a ſingular inſtance of good nature.
In the year 1715 Mr. Prior was recalled from France, and upon his arrival was taken up by a warrant from the Houſe of Commons; ſhortly after which, he underwent a very ſhort examination by a Committee of the Privy Council. His political friend, lord Bolingbroke, foreſeeing a ſtorm, took ſhelter in France, and ſecured Harry, but left poor Matt, in the lurch.
On the 10th of June Robert Walpole, eſq; moved the Houſe againſt him, and on the 17th Mr. Prior was ordered into cloſe cuſtody, and no perſon was admitted to ſee him without leave from the Speaker. For the particulars of this procedure of the Parliament, both againſt Mr. Prior, and many others concerned in the public tranſactions of the preceding reign, we refer to the hiſtories of that time. In the year 1717 an Act of Grace was paſſed in favour of thoſe who had oppoſed the Hanoverian ſucceſſion, as well as thoſe who had been in open rebellion, but Mr. Prior was excepted out of it. At the cloſe of this year, however, he was diſcharged from his confinement, and retired to ſpend the reſidue of his days at Downhall in Eſſex.
The ſevere uſage which Mr. Prior met with, perhaps was the occaſion of the following beautiful lines, addreſſed to his Chloe;
From public noiſe, and factious ſtrife,
From all the buſy ills of life,
Take me, my Chloe, to thy breaſt;
And lull my wearied ſoul to reſt:
For ever, in this humble cell,
Let thee, and I my fair one dwell;
None enter elſe, but Love—and he
Shall bar the door, and keep the key.
To painted roofs, and ſhining ſpires
(Uneaſy ſeats of high deſires)
Let the unthinking many croud,
That dare be covetous, and proud;
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happineſs for ſtate:
But oh! my Chloe when thy ſwain
Deſires to ſee a court again;
May Heav’n around his deſtin’d head
The choiceſt of his curſes ſhed,
To ſum up all the rage of fate,
In the two things I dread, and hate,
May’ſt thou be falſe, and I be great.
In July 1721, within two months of his death, Mr. Prior publiſhed the following beautiful little tale on the falſehood of mankind, entitled The Converſation, and applied it to the truth, honour, and juſtice of his grace the duke of Dorſet.
The CONVERSATION. A Tale.
It always has been thought diſcreet
To know the company you meet;
And ſure, there may be ſecret danger
In talking much before a ſtranger.
Agreed: what then? then drink your ale;
I’ll pledge you, and repeat my tale.
No matter where the ſcene is fix’d,
The perſons were but odly mix’d,
When ſober Damon thus began:
(And Damon is a clever man)
I now grow old; but ſtill from youth,
Have held for modeſty and truth,
The men, who by theſe ſea-marks ſteer,
In life’s great voyage, never err;
Upon this point I dare defy
The world: I pauſe for a reply.
Sir, either is a good aſſiſtant,
Said one, who ſat a little diſtant:
Truth decks our ſpeeches, and our books,
And modeſty adorns our looks:
But farther progreſs we mull take;
Not only born to look and ſpeak,
The man mull act. The Stagyrite
Says thus, and ſays extremely right:
Strict juſtice is the ſovereign guide,
That o’er our actions ſhould preſide:
This queen of virtue is confeſs’d
To regulate and bind the reſt.
Thrice happy, if you can but find
Her equal balance poiſe your mind:
All diff’rent graces ſoon will enter,
Like lines concurrent to their center.
’Twas thus, in ſhort, theſe two went on,
With yea and nay, and pro and con,
Thro’ many points divinely dark,
And Waterland aſſaulting Clarke;
’Till, in theology half loſt,
Damon took up the Evening-Poſt;
Confounded Spain, compos’d the North,
And deep in politics held forth.
Methinks, we’re in the like condition,
As at the treaty of partition;
That ſtroke, for all King William’s care,
Begat another tedious war.
Matthew, who knew the whole intrigue,
Ne’er much approv’d that myſtic league;
In the vile Utrecht treaty too,
Poor man! he found enough to do.
Sometimes to me he did apply;
But downright Dunſtable was I,
And told him where they were miſtaken,
And counſell’d him to ſave his bacon:
But (paſs his politics and proſe)
I never herded with his foes;
Nay, in his verſes, as a friend,
I ſtill found ſomething to commend.
Sir, I excus’d his Nut-brown maid;
Whate’er ſeverer critics ſaid:
Too far, I own, the girl was try’d:
The women all were on my ſide.
For Alma I returned him thanks,
I lik’d her with her little pranks;
Indeed, poor Solomon, in rhime,
Was much too grave to be ſublime.
Pindar and Damon ſcorn tranſition,
So on he ran a new diviſion;
’Till, out of breath, he turn’d to ſpit:
(Chance often helps us more than wit)
T’ other that lucky moment took,
Juſt nick’d the time, broke in, and ſpoke:
Of all the gifts the gods afford
(If we may take old Tully’s word)
The greateſt is a friend, whoſe love
Knows how to praiſe, and when reprove;
From ſuch a treaſure never part,
But hang the jewel on your heart:
And pray, ſir (it delights me) tell;
You know this author mighty well—
Know him! d’ye queſtion it? ods fiſh!
Sir, does a beggar know his diſh?
I lov’d him, as I told you, I
Advis’d him—here a ſtander-by
Twitch’d Damon gently by the cloke,
And thus unwilling ſilence broke:
Damon, ’tis time we ſhould retire,
The man you talk with is Matt. Prior.
Patron, thro’ life, and from thy birth my friend,
Dorſet, to thee this fable let me ſend:
With Damon’s lightneſs weigh thy ſolid worth;
The foil is known to ſet the diamond forth:
Let the feign’d tale this real moral give,
How many Damons, how few Dorſets live!
Mr. Prior, after the fatigue of a length of years paſt in various ſervices of action, was deſirous of ſpending the remainder of his days in rural tranquility, which the greateſt men of all ages have been fond of enjoying: he was ſo happy as to ſucceed in his wiſh, living a very retired, and contemplative life, at Downhall in Eſſex, and found, as he expreſſed himſelf, a more ſolid, and innocent ſatisfaction among woods, and meadows, than he had enjoyed in the hurry, and tumults of the world, the courts of Princes, or the conducting foreign negotiations; and where as he melodiouſly ſings,
The remnant of his days he ſafely paſt,
Nor found they lagg’d too ſlow, nor flew too faſt;
He made his wiſh with his eſtate comply,
Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.
This great man died on the 18th of September, 1721, at Wimple in Cambridgſhire, the ſeat of the earl of Oxford, with whoſe friendſhip he had been honoured for ſome years. The death of ſo diſtinguiſhed a perſon was juſtly eſteemed an irreparable loſs to the polite world, and his memory will be ever dear to thoſe, who have any reliſh for the muſes in their ſofter charms. Some of the latter part of his life was employed in collecting materials for an Hiſtory of the Tranſactions of his own Times, but his death unfortunately deprived the world of what the touches of ſo maſterly a hand, would have made exceeding valuable.
Mr. Prior, by the ſuffrage of all men of taſte, holds the firſt rank in poetry, for the delicacy of his numbers, the wittineſs of his turns, the acuteneſs of his remarks, and, in one performance, for the amazing force of his ſentiments. The ſtile of our author is likewiſe ſo pure, that our language knows no higher authority, and there is an air of original in his minuteſt performances.
It would be ſuperfluous to give any detail of his poems, they are in the hands of all who love poetry, and have been as often admired, as read. The performance however, for which he is moſt diſtinguiſhed, is his Solomon; a Poem in three Books, the firſt on Knowledge, the ſecond on Pleaſure, and the third on Power. We know few poems to which this is ſecond, and it juſtly eſtabliſhed his reputation as one of the beſt writers of his age.
This ſublime work begins thus,
Ye ſons of men, with juſt regard attend,
Obſerve the preacher, and believe the friend,
Whoſe ſerious muſe inſpires him to explain,
That all we act, and all we think is vain:
That in this pilgrimage of ſeventy years,
O’er rocks of perils, and thro’ vales of tears
Deſtin’d to march, our doubtful ſteps we tend,
Tir’d of the toil, yet fearful of its end:
That from the womb, we take our fatal ſhares,
Of follies, faſhions, labours, tumults, cares;
And at approach of death ſhall only know,
The truths which from theſe penſive numbers flow,
That we purſue falſe joy, and ſuffer real woe.
After an enquiry into, and an excellent deſcription of the various operations, and effects of nature, the ſyſtem of the heavens, &c. and not being fully informed of them, the firſt Book concludes,
How narrow limits were to wiſdom given?
Earth ſhe ſurveys; ſhe thence would meaſure Heav’n:
Thro’ miſts obſcure, now wings her tedious way;
Now wanders dazl’d, with too bright a day;
And from the ſummit of a pathleſs coaſt
Sees infinite, and in that ſight is loſt.
In the ſecond Book the uncertainty, diſappointment, and vexation attending pleaſure in general, are admirably deſcribed; and in the character of Solomon is ſufficiently ſhewn, that nothing debaſes majeſty, or indeed any man, more than ungovernable paſſion.
When thus the gathering ſtorms of wretched love
In my ſwoln boſom, with long war had ſtrove;
At length they broke their bounds; at length their force
Bore down whatever met its ſtronger courſe:
Laid all the civil bounds of manhood waſte,
And ſcatter’d ruin, as the torrent paſt.
The third Book treats particularly of the trouble and inſtability of greatneſs and power, conſiders man through the ſeveral ſtages and conditions of life, and has excellent reaſoning upon life and death. On the laſt are theſe lines;
Cure of the miſer’s wiſh, and cowards fear,
Death only ſhews us, what we knew was near.
With courage therefore view the pointed hour;
Dread not death’s anger, but expect its power;
Nor nature’s laws, with fruitleſs ſorrow mourn;
But die, O mortal man! for thou waſt born.
The poet has likewiſe theſe ſimilies on life;
As ſmoke that riſes from the kindling fires
Is ſeen this moment, and the next expires:
As empty clouds by riſing winds are toſt,
Their fleeting forms no ſooner found than loſt:
So vaniſhes our ſtate; ſo paſs our days;
So life but opens now, and now decays;
The cradle, and the tomb, alas! ſo nigh;
To live is ſcarce diſtinguiſhed from to die.
We ſhall conclude this account of Mr. Prior’s life with the following copy of verſes, written on his Death by Robert Ingram, eſq; which is a very ſucceſsful imitation of Mr. Prior’s manner.
1.
Mat. Prior!—(and we muſt ſubmit)
Is at his journey’s end;
In whom the world has loſt a wit,
And I, what’s more, a friend.
2.
Who vainly hopes long here to ſtay,
May ſee with weeping eyes;
Not only nature poſts away,
But e’en good nature dies!
3.
Should grave ones count theſe praiſes light,
To ſuch it may be ſaid:
A man, in this lamented wight,
Of buſineſs too is dead.
4.
From anceſtors, as might a fool!
He trac’d no high-fetch’d ſtem;
But gloriouſly revers’d the rule,
By dignifying them.
5.
O! gentle Cambridge? ſadly ſay,
Why fates are ſo unkind
To ſnatch thy giant ſons away,
Whilſt pigmies ſtay behind?
6.
Horace and he were call’d, in haſte,
From this vile earth to heav’n;
The cruel year not fully paſt,
Ætatis, fifty ſeven.
7.
So, on the tops of Lebanon,
Tall cedars felt the ſword,
To grace, by care of Solomon,
The temple of the Lord.
8.
A tomb amidſt the learned may
The weſtern abbey give!
Like theirs, his aſhes muſt decay,
Like theirs, his fame ſhall live.
9.
Cloſe, carver, by ſome well cut books,
Let a thin buſto tell,
In ſpite of plump and pamper’d looks,
How ſcantly ſenſe can dwell!
10.
No epitaph of tedious length
Should overcharge the ſtone;
Since loftieſt verſe would loſe its ſtrength,
In mentioning his own.
11.
At once! and not verboſely tame,
Some brave Laconic pen
Should ſmartly touch his ample name,
In form of—O rare Ben!
