Stephens prints heathen Greek, 'tis said, A page is blotted, or leaf wanting: And pays prodigious dear for-sense. Lintot's for gen'ral use are fit; For some folks read, but all folks sh-. * Thomas Rawlinson, Esq. eldest son of the lord-mayor.CURLL. TO MR JOHN MOORE, AUTHOR OF THE CELEBRATED WORM-POWDER. [The following certificate in favour of Mr Moore and his vermifuge, appeared repeatedly in the papers about this time. "Whereas I Michael Parrot' have had brought away a worm of sixteen feet long, by taking the medicines of J. Moore, apothecary in Abchurch-Lane, London, witness my hand, Michael Parrot. Witness, Anthony Spyer."--Postboy, 27th to 29th April, 1710. Mr Isaac Bickerstaff, in his capacity of Censor of Great Britain, deemed it necessary to pass the following stricture on this modest attestation : "I shall therefore dismiss this subject with a public admonition to Mr Michael Parrot, that he do not presume any more to mention a certain worm he knows of, which, by the way, has grown seven fect in my memory, for if I am not much mistaken, it is the same that was but nine feet six months ago." Tatler, No. 224. In the first anonymous copies of this poem, there occurred a very indelicate verse, which was omitted by the author on better consideration, and restored by the malignant correctness of Curll, in his spu rious edition of Pope's Miscellanies.] How much egregious MOORE, are we Man is a very worm by birth, That Woman is a worm, we find, The learn'd themselves we book-worms name, The fops are painted butterflies, That flutter for a day; First from a worm they take their rise, The flatterer an earwig grows; Thus worms suit all conditions; Misers are muck-worms, silk-worms beaus, And death-watches physicians. That statesmen have the worm, is seen Ah! Moore! thy skill were well employ'd, If thou couldst make the courtier void O learned friend of Abchurch-lane, Our fate thou only canst adjourn Some few short years, no more! Ev'n Button's wits to worms shall turn, Who maggots were before. *Button's coffeehouse, in Covent Garden, frequented by the wits of that time.-H. VERSES OCCASIONED BY AN &C. AT THE END OF MR D'URFEY'S NAME, IN THE TITLE TO ONE OF HIS PLAYS.* [Poor Tom D'Urfey, who stood the force of so much wit, was a play-wright and song-writer. He appears to have been an inoffensive, good-humoured, thoughtless character, and was endured and laughed at by Dryden, by Steele, who recommended his benefit-nights to the attention of the public, through the medium of the Tatler and Guardian, and at length by Pope, who, as appears from the next article, in a spirit betwixt contempt and charity, wrote a prologue for his last play.] JOVE call'd before him t'other day Were silent, which by Fate's decree *This accident happened by Mr D'Urfey's having made a ourish there, which the printer mistook for an &c.-H. And Q maintain'd 'twas but his due From which, good Jupiter, defend us! He'd not be serv'd so like a beast; And made up half a pope at least. That of his grace he would proclaim For though, without them both, 'twas clear Yet they'd resign that post so high, B and L swore b- and w-s! They, tho' but standers by, too mutter'd; Diphthongs and tripthongs swore and flutter'd: |