by: Matthew Prior (1664-1721)
POEMS BY MATTHEW PRIOR
- EAR Thomas, didst thou never pop
- Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
- There, Thomas, didst thou never see
- ('Tis but by way of simile)
- A squirrel spend his little rage
- In jumping round a rolling cage?
- The cage, as either side turn'd up,
- Striking a ring of bells a-top?--
- Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
- The foolish creature thinks he climbs:
- But here or there, turn wood or wire,
- He never gets two inches higher.
- So fares it with those merry blades,
- That frisk it under Pindus' shades.
- In noble songs, and lofty odes,
- They tread on stars, and talk with gods;
- Still dancing in an airy round,
- Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound;
- Brought back, how fast soe'er they go,
- Always aspiring, always low.