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To Mr. JOHN MOORE, AUTHOR of the celebrated WoRM


L O W much, egregious Moore, are we 1 1 Deceiv'd by shews and forms! . Whate'er we think, whate’er we see,

All Humankind are Worms.

Man is a very Worm by birth,

Vile, Reptile, weak, and vain! A while he crawls upon the earth,

Then Ihrinks to earth again.

That Woman is a Worm, we find

E’re since our Grandame's evil;
She first convers’d with her own kind,

That ancient Worm, the Devil.

The Learn'd themselves we Book-worms name,

The Blockhead is a Slow-worm ; The Nymph whose tail is all on flame,

Is aptly term'd a Glow-worm:

The Fops are painted Butterflies,

That fluiter for a day;
First from a Worm they take their rile,

And in a Worm decay.

The Flatterer an Earwig grows;

Thus Worms fuit all conditions ; Misers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus,

And Death-watches Physicians.

That Statesmen have the Worm, is seen,

By all their winding play;
Their Conscience is a Worm within,

That gnaws them night and day.

Ah Mcore ! thy kill were well employ'd,

And greater gain would rife,
If thou could'It make the Courtier void

The Worm that never dies!

O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane,

Who fett'it our entrails free? Vity Art, tły Powder vain,

ir cins thall eat cv'n thee.

Our Fate thou only can'st adjourn

Some few short years, no more! Evn Button's Wits to Worms shall turn,

Who Maggots were before.

SONG, by a Person of Quality.

Written in the Year 1733.

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L Lutt'ring spread thy purple Pinions,
T Gentle Cupid, o'er my Heart;
I a Slave in thy Dominions;
Nature must give Way to Art.

Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,

Nightly nodding o'er your Flocks,
See my weary Days consuming,

All beneath yon flow'ry Rocks.

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Thus the Cyprian Goddess weeping,

Mourn'd Alonis, darling Youth:
Ilim the Boar in Silence creeping,
Gor'd with unrelenting Tooth.

Cynthia, tune harmonious Numbers ;

Fair Disiretion, string the Lyre;
South my ever-waking Slumbers :

Bri ht ripollo, lend thy Choir.


Gloomy Pluto, King of Terrors,

Arm'd in adamantine Chains, Lead me to the Crystal Mirrors,

Wat’ring soft Elysian Plains,

Mournful Cypress, verdant Willow,

Gilding my Aurelia's Brows,
Morpheus hov'ring o'er my Pillow,

Here me pay my dying Vows.

VII. Melancholy smooth Mæander,

Swiftly purling in a Round, On thy Margin Lovers wander, With thy flow'ry Chaplets crown'd.


VIII. Thus when Philomela drooping,

Softly seeks her filent Mate, See the Bird of Juno stooping; Melody resigns to Fate.

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