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Stephens prints Heathen Greek, 'tis said,
Which some can't construe, some can't read :
But all that comes from Lintot's hand
Even Rawlinson 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 so much as read.
Their copy coft 'em not a penny
To Homer, Virgil, or to any;
They ne'er gave fixpence for two lines
To them, their heirs, or their affigns :
But Lintot is at yaft expence,
And pays prodigious dear for sense.
Their books are useful but to few,
A scholar, or a wit or two :
Lintot's for geo'ral use are fit ;
For fome folks read, but all folks fh

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* To MR. JOHN MOORE,

Author of the celebrated WORM-POWDERT.

HO
OW much, egregious Moore, are we

Deceiv'd by shews 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 shrinks to earth again.

This poem was wrote by Mr Pope.

That woman is a worm, we find,

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

That antient worm, the devil.

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The learn'd themselves we book-worms name ;

The blockhead is a flow-worm ;
The nymph, whose tail is all on flame,

Is aptly term'd a glow-worm.

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The fops are painted butterflies,

That flutter for a day;
First from a worm they take their rise,

And in a worm decay.

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The flatterer an earwig grows;

Thus worms suit all conditions ;
Misers are muck-worms, filk-worms beaux,
And death watches physicians.

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That statesmen have the worm, is seen

By all their winding play; Their conscience' is a worm within,

That gnaws them night and day.

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Ah, Moore ! thy skill were well employ'd,

And greater gain would rise,
If thou couldft make the courtier void

The worm that never dies !

O! learned friend of Abchurch-lane,

Who sett'st our intrails free! Vain is thy art, thy powder vain,

Since worms shall eat ev'n thee.

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Our fate thou only canft adjourn

Some few short years, no more !
Ev'n Button's wits * to worms shall turn,

Who maggots were before.

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Verses occasioned by an &c. at the end

of Mr D'URFY's name in the title to one of his plays to

JOVE

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VE call'd before him t'other day

The vowels, U, O, I, E, A;
All diphthongs, and all consonants,
Either of England, or of France ;
And all that were, or with'd to be,
Rank'd in the name of Tom D'Urfy.
Fierce is this cause; the letters spoke all,
Liquids grew rough, and mutes turn'd vocal.
Those four proud fyllables alone

Were filent, which by fate's decree
Chim'd in so smoothly one by one,

To the sweet name of Tom D'Urfy.
N, by whom names fubfift, declar'd,
To have no place in this was hard;
And Q maintain'd 'twas but his due
Still to keep company with U;
So hop'd to stand no less than he
In the great name of Tom D'Urfy.
E shew'd, a comma ne'er could claim
A place in any British name ;
Yet, making here a perfect botch,
Thrusts your poor vowel from his notch ;

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Button's coffee-house, in Covent Garden, frequented by the wits of that time.

+ This accident happened by Mr D'Urfy's having made a fourith there, which the printer mistook for an &c.

a pope at least.

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Hiatas valde deflendus!
From which, good Jupiter, defend us !
Sooner I'd quit my part in thee,

25 Than be no part in Tom D'Urfy, P protested, puff'd, and swore,

He'd not be serv'd so like a beast;
He was a piece of emperor,
And made

up

half
C vow'd, he'd frankly, have releas'd
His double share in Gæjar Gaius.
For only one in Tom Durfeius.
I, consonant and vowel too,
To Jupiter did humbly fue,

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That of his grace he would proclaim
Durfeius his true Latin name :
For tho' without them both 'twas clear
Himself could ne'er be Jupiter ;
Yet they'd resign thay post so high
To be the genitive, Durfei.
B and L swore b— and w
X and Z cry'd, p-x and z-s;
G swore by G-d; it ne'er should be ;
And W would not lose, not he,

45 An English letter's property In the great name of Tom D'Urfy. In short, the rest were all in fray, From Ghrif-cross to et cætera. They, tho' but ftanders-by, too mutter'd; 50 Diphthongs and tripthongs swore and Autter'd; That none had so much right to be Part of the name of stutt'ring 1T-Tom-aas De-D'Ur-fy-fy.

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Then yode thus (pake: With care and pain
We form'd this name, renown'd in rhyme :
VOL. VI.

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}

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Not thine, * immortal Neufgermain !

'Coft ftudious cabaliņs more time.
Yet now, as then, you all declare,
Far hence to Egypt you'll repair,
And turn strange hi'roglyphicks there,
Rather than letters longer be,
Unless i'th' name of Tom D'Urfy.

Were you all pleas'd, yet what, I pray,
To foreign letters could I say?
What if the Hebrew next should aim
To turn quite backward D'Urfy's name?
Shou'd the Greek quarrel too, by Styx, I
Cou'd never bring in Pfi and Xi ;
Omicron and Omega from us

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Would each hope to be O in Thomas ;
And all th' ambitious vowels vie,
No less than Pythagoric 1,
To have a place in Tom D'Urfy.
Then, well belov'd and trusty letters !

75 Cons'nants, and vowels much their betters, We, willing to repair this breach, And, all that in us lies, please each, Et cet'ra to our aid must cal ; Et cat'ra represents ye all :

80 Et cæt'ra therefore, we decree, Henceforth for ever join'd fhall be To the great name of Tom D'Ury'.

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* PROLOGUE designed for Mr.

D'URFY's last play. GROWN old in rhyme, 'twere barbarous to discard

Your persevering, unexhausted bard: * A poet, who used to make verses ending with the last fyl. Sables of the names of those persons he praised; which Voiture turned against him in a poem of the same kind.

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