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Stephens prints Heathen Greek, 'tis said,
* To MR. JOHN MOORE,
Author of the celebrated WORM-POWDERT.
Deceiv'd by shews and forms!
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 ;
That antient worm, the devil.
The learn'd themselves we book-worms name ;
The blockhead is a flow-worm ;
Is aptly term'd a glow-worm.
The fops are painted butterflies,
That flutter for a day;
And in a worm decay.
The flatterer an earwig grows;
Thus worms suit all conditions ;
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,
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.
Our fate thou only canft adjourn
Some few short years, no more !
Who maggots were before.
Verses occasioned by an &c. at the end
of Mr D'URFY's name in the title to one of his plays to
VE call'd before him t'other day
The vowels, U, O, I, E, A;
Were filent, which by fate's decree
To the sweet name of Tom D'Urfy.
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.
Hiatas mî valde deflendus!
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;
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.
Then yode thus (pake: With care and pain
Not thine, * immortal Neufgermain !
'Coft ftudious cabaliņs more time.
Were you all pleas'd, yet what, I pray,
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'.
* 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.