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Such, fuch emotions fhould in Britons rife,
And be the Critic's, Briton's, Old Man's Friend.
VER. 12. Their Quibbles routed and defy'd their Puns ;] See Dunciad, Note on v. 63. B. I.
VER. 13. Adefp'rate Bulwark, etc.] See Dunc. Note on v. 268. B. II.
VER. 16. And book the Stage with Thunders all biş own!] See Dunc. Note on v. 226. B. II.
VER. 17. Stood up to dafp, etc.] See Dunc. Note on V. 173. B. III.
VER. 18. Maul the French Tyrant-] See Dunc. Note on v. 413. B. II.
Ibid. or pull down the POPE !] See Dune. Note on v. 63. B. I.
VER. 21. If there's a critic of diftinguifh'd rage.] See Dunc. Notes on v. 106. B. I.
HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown,
Now he begs Verfe, and what he gets commends,
So fome coarse Country Wench, almost decay'd, his Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid;
Aukward and fupple, each devoir to pay;
She flatters her good Lady twice a day;
Thought wond'rous honeft, tho' of mean degree,
In a tranflated Suit, then tries the Town,
And in four months a batter'd Harridan.
Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and fhrunk,
To Mr. JOHN MOORE,
AUTHOR of the celebrated WOR MPOWDER.
WOW much, egregious Moore, are we
H Deceiv'd by fhews and forms!
Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee,
Man is a very Worm by birth,
That Woman is a Worm, we find
The Learn'd themselves we Book-worms name,
The Nymph whose tail is all on flame,
Is aptly term'd a Glow-worm:
The Fops are painted Butterflies,
That flutter for a day;
Firft from a Worm they take their rife,
And in a Worm decay.
The Flatterer an Earwig grows;
Mifers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus,
And Death-watches Phyficians.
That Statesmen have the Worm, is feen,
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,
If thou could'ft make the Courtier void
O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane,
Our Fate thou only can'st adjourn
Some few short years, no more!! Ev'n Button's Wits to Worms fhall turn, Who Maggots were before.
SONG, by a Person of Quality.
Written in the Year 1733.
Gentle Cupid, o'er my Heart;
I a Slave in thy Dominions;
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Thus the Cyprian Goddefs weeping,
Cynthia, tune harmonious Numbers;