Applied to F. C.

ERE Francis Chs lies-be civil!

H

The rest God knows-perhaps the devil.

P

EPIGRAM.

ET ER complains, that God has given
To his poor babe a life so short:

Confider Peter he's in Heaven:

"Tis good to have a friend at court.

EPITAPH [of by-words.]

HERE liesa round woman, who thought migh

ty odd

Every word she e'er heard in this church about God. To convince her of God the good Dean did endea

vour,

But ftill in heart fhe held nature more clever..

Tho' he talked much of virtue, her head always run
Upon fomething or other, fhe found better fun.
For the dame, by her skill in affairs aftronomical,
Imagin'd, to live in the clouds was but comical.
In this world, fhe defpis'd ev'ry foul fhe met here,
And now fhe's in t'other, fhe thinks it but queer.

VERSES to be placed under the picture of England's Arch-poet, containing a compleat catalogue of his works..

S

EE who ne'er was, nor will be half read!

Who first fung a Arthur, then fung b Alfred, Prais'd great c Eliza in God's anger,

"Till all true Englishmen ery'd, hang her! Made William's virtues wipe the bare A― And hang'd up Marlborough in d Arras:

Then, hifs'd from earth, grew heav'nly quite ; Made ev'ry reader curfe the e light; Maul'd human wit in one thick ffatire, Next in three books, funk g human nature,

Undid h creation at a jerk,

And of i redemption made damn'd work.

Then took his mufe at once, and dipt her

Full in the middle of the fcripture.

What wonders there, the man grown old, did?
Sternbold himself he out-fternbolded,

Made k David feem fo mad, and freakish,

All thought him just what thought King Achiz.
No mortal read his / Solomon,

But judg'd Roboam his own fon.

a Two Heroic Poems in folio, twenty books.
Heroick poem in twelve books.

c Heroic poem in folio, ten books.

d Instructions to Vanderbank, a tapestry-weaver.
e Hymn to the light.

Satire against wit.

Of the nature of man.

b Creation, a poem in feven books.

i The Redeemer, another heroick poèm in fix books.

Translation of all the pfalms.

¡Canticles and Ecclefiaft.

Mofes

Mofes m he ferv'd, as Mofes Pharaoh,
And Deborah, as the Siferab:

Made n Jeremy full fore to cry,

And o Job himself curfe God, and die.
What punishment all this must follow ?
Shall Arthur use him like King Tollo?
Shall David as Uriah flay him,
Or dextrous Deb'rah Sifera-him?
Or fhall Eliza lay a plot,

To treat him like her fifter Scot.
Shall William dub his better end *
Or Marlb'rough ferve him like a friend?
No, none of these- Heaven fpare his life!
But fend him, honeft Job, thy wife.

Dr. Sw-- to Mr. P---e, while he was writing the Dunciad.

POPE has the talent well to speak,

But not to reach the ear;

His loudest voice is low, and weak,
The Dean too deaf to hear.

A while they on each other look,
Then diff'rent ftudies chufe;

The Dean fits plodding on a book,
Pope walks, and courts the muse.
Now backs of letters, tho' defign'd
For those who more will need 'em,

Are

m Paraphrafe of the canticles of Mofes and Deborah, &c. n The Lamentations.

0 The whole book of Job, a poem in folio.

* Kick him on the breech, not knight him on the shoulder,

Are fill'd with hints, and interlin'd,
Himself can hardly read 'em.
Each atom by some other ftruck,
All turns and motion tries;
"Till in a lump together stuck,
Behold a Poem rise !

Yet to the Dean his fhare allot;
He claims it by a canon;
That, without which a thing is not,
Is caufa fine quâ non.

Thus, Pope, in vain you boaft your wit;
For, had our deaf divine
Been for your converfation fit,

You had not writ a line.

Of prelate thus, for preaching fam'd,
The fexton reason'd well,

And justly half the merit claim'd,
Because he rang the bell..

VERSES to be prefixed before BERNARD LINTOT's new mifcellany.

OM E Colinæus praife, fome Blaeu,

Others account 'em but fo fo;

Some Plantin to the reft prefer,
And some efteem old Elzevir ;
Others with Aldus would befot us ;
I, for my part, admire Lintóttus.
His character's beyond compare,
Like his own person large and fair.
They print their names in letters fmall;
But LINTOT ftands in capital:

Author

Author and he, with eqaul grace,

Appear and ftare you in the face:
Stephens prints Heathen Greek, 'tis faid,

Which fome can't conftrue, fome can't read:
But all that comes from Lintot's hand
Ev'n Rafon might understand.
Oft in an Aldus, or a Plantin,
A page is blotted, or leaf wanting
Of Lintot's books this can't be faid,
All fair, and not fo much as read.
Their copy coft 'em not a penny
To Homer, Virgil, or to any;
They ne'er gave fix-pence for tavo lines,
To them, their heirs, or their affigns:
But Lintot is at vaft expence,

And pays. prodigious dear for sense.
Their books are useful but to few,
A scholar, or a wit or two:

Lintot's for general use are fit;

For fome folks read, but all folks fh→→

To Mr. JOHN MOORE, author of the celebrated worm-powder.

H

OW much, egregious Moore, are we
Deceiv'd by fhews and forms!

Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee,
All human kind are worms.
Man is a very worm by birth,

Vile reptile, weak, and vain!
A while he crawls upon the earth,
Then fhrinks to earth again.

That