epigram, society verse, and the humorous _conte_ in the manner of La
Fontaine; but to see how incapable he was of the depth and sweetness of
romantic poetry, compare a few lines of the original with the "hubbub of
words" in his modernized version, in heroic couplets:

"O Lord, what is this worldes blisse
That changeth as the mone!
The somer's day in lusty May
Is derked before the none.
I hear you say farewel. Nay, nay,
We departe not so soon:
Why say ye so? Wheder wyle ye goo?
Alas! what have ye done?
Alle my welfare to sorrow and care
Shulde change if ye were gon;
For in my minde, of all mankynde,
I love but you alone."

Now hear Prior, with his Venus and flames and god of love:

"What is our bliss that changeth with the moon,
And day of life that darkens ere 'tis noon?
What is true passion, if unblest it dies?
And where is Emma's joy, if Henry flies?
If love, alas! be pain, the pain I bear
No thought can figure and no tongue declare.
Ne'er faithful woman felt, nor false one feigned
The flames which long have in my bosom reigned.
The god of love himself inhabits there
With all his rage and dread and grief and care,