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Such, such emotions should in Britons rise,

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When press’d by want and weakness Dennis lies ;
Dennis, who long had warr'd with modern Huns,
Their Quibbles routed, and defy'd their Puns ;
A desp'rate Bulwark, sturdy, firm, and fierce
Against the Gothic Sons of frozen verse:

14.
How chang'd from him who made the boxes groan,
And shook the stage with Thunders all his own!
Stood up to dash each vain PRETENDER's hope,
Maul the French Tyrant, or pull down the Pope !
If there's a Briton then, true bred and born, Ig
Who holds Dragoons and wooden shoes in scorn;
If there's a Critic of distinguish'd rage;
If there's a Senior, who contemns this age;
Let him to night his just assistance lend,
And be the Critic's, Briton's, Old Man's Friend.

NOTES.
Ver. 12. Their Quibbles routed and defy'd their Puris

is ;] See Dunciad, Note on v. 63. B. I.

Ver. 13. A defp'rate Bulwark, etc.) See Dunc. Note on v. 268. B. II.

Ver. 16. And shook the Stage with Thunders all hiç own !] See Dunc. Note on v. 226. B. II.

. 17. Stood up to dash, etc.] See Dunc. Note on

VER. 17.

y. 173. B. III.

VER. 18. Muul the French Tyrant-] See Dunc. Note on v 413. B. II.

Ibid. or pull down the Pope !) See Dunc. Note on v. 63. B.I.

VER. 21. If there's a critic of distinguisb'd rage.] See Dunc. Notes on y. 106. B. I,

MACER

M A A C E R: CH A R A C T E R.

C WHE

A

I

THEN simple Macer, now of high renown,

First sought a Poet's Fortune in the Town, 'Twas all th' Ambition his high foul could feel, To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steel. Some Ends of verse his Betters might afford, 5 And gave the harmless fellow a good word. Set up

with thefe, he ventur'd on the Town, And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crowli. There he stop'd short, nor since has writ a tittle, But has the wit to make the most of little: Like stunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot. Now he begs Verse, and what he gets commends, Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends. 14

So some coarse Country Wench, almost decay'd, Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid ; Aukward and supple, each devoir to pay; She flatters her good Lady twice a day; Thought wond'rous honest, tho' of mean degree, And strangely lik’d for her Simplicity: In a translated Suit, then tries the Town, With borrow'd Pins, and Patches not her own : But just endur'd the winter she began, And in four months a batter'd Harridan. Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and thrunk, To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.

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TOW much, egregious Moore, are we

Deceiv'd by thews and forms! Whate'er we think, whate'er we see,

All Humankind are Worms.

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Man is a very Worm by birth,

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

Then shrinks to earth again.

That Woman is a Worm, we find

E're fince 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,

Tlic 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 futter for a day ;
Firit from a Worm they take their rife,

And in a Worm decay.

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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 Moore ! thy skill were well employ'd,

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

The Worm that never dies !

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O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane,

Who sett'ft our entrails free? Vain is thy Art, thy Powder vain,

Since Worms shall eat ev'n thee.

Our Fate thou only can'st adjourn

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

Who Maggots were before.

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I.
Lutt'ring fpread thy purple Pinions,

Gentle Cupid, o'er my Heart ;
I a Slave in thy Dominions ;

Nature must give Way to Art.

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II.
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,

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

All beneath yon fow'ry Rocks.

III.
Thus the Cyprian Goddess weeping,

Mourn'd Adonis, darling Youth:
Him the Boar in Silence creeping,

Gor'd with unrelenting Tooth.

IV.
Cynthia, tune harmonious Numbers;

Fair Discretion, string the Lyre;
Sooth my ever-waking Slumbers :

Bright Apollo, lend thy Choir.

V. Glooiny

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