To Mr JOHN MOORE, AUTHOR of the celebrated WOR M POWDER. OW much, egregious Moore, are we HOW 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 themfelves we Book-worms name, The Nymph whofe tail is all on flame, Is aptly term'd a Glow-worm : The Fops are painted Butterflies, First from a Worm they take their rife, And in a Worin decay. The Flatterer an Earwig grows; Thus Worms fuit all conditions; Mifers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus, And Death-watches Physicians. That Statesmen have the Worm, is feen By all their winding play; Their Confcience is a Worm within, Ah Moore! thy fkill were well employ❜d, If thou could't make the Courtier void O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane, Our Fate thou only can'ft adjourn SONG, by a Perfon of Quality. F Written in the Year 1733. I. Lutt'ring spread thy purple Pinions, I a Slave in thy Dominions; Nature must give Way to Art. II. Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, See my weary Days confuming, III. Thus the Cyprian Goddess weeping, IV. Cynthia, tune harmonious Numbers; V. Gloomy Pluto, King of Terrors, VI. Mournful Cypress, verdant Willow, Morpheus hov'ring o'er my Pillow, VII. Melancholy fmooth Meander, On thy Margin Lovers wander, With thy flow'ry Chaplets crown'd. VIII. Thus when Philomela drooping, Softly feeks her filent Mate, On a certain LADY at COURT. I Know the thing that's most uncommon ; (Envy be filent, and attend!) I know a reasonable Woman, Handsome and witty, yet a Friend. Not warp'd by Paffion, aw'd by Rumour, "Has she no faults then (Envy says) Sir?" When all the World confpires to praife her, |