MATTHEW PRIOR

424. Song

HP HE merchant, to secure his treasure,

• Conveys it in a borrowed name :

Euphelia serves to grace my measure ; But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre,

Upon Euphelia' s toilet lay; When Chloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise ;

But with my numbers mix my sighs: And while I sing Euphelia's praise,

I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd :

I sung, and gazed : I play'd, and trembled

And Venus to the Loves around

Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled,

T MY dear, was born to-day

• > So all my jolly comrades say:

They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,

And ask to celebrate my birth :

Little, alas ! m,y comrades know

That I was born to pain and woe ;

To thy denial, to thy scorn,

Better I had ne'er been born :

I wish to die, even whilst I say

'I, my dear, was born to-day.'

4QO

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