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Thought wondrous honeft, tho' of mean degree,
And ftrangely liked for her Simplicity:

In a tranflated Suit, then tries the Town,
With borrow'd Pins and Patches not her own:
But just endur'd the Winter she began,

And in four Months a batter'd Harridan.

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Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk, To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.

To Mr. JOHN MOORE,

AUTHOR of the celebrated WoR MPOWDER.

H

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

Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee,
All Humankind 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.

That Woman is a Worm, we find

E'er fince our Grandame's evil; She first convers'd with her own kind, That ancient Worm, the Devil.

The Learn'd themfelves we Book-worms name,
The Blockhead is a Slow, worm;

The Nymph whofe tail is all on fame,
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;

Thus Worms fuit all conditions;

Mifers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus,

And Death-watches Phyficians.

That Statesmen have the Worm, is feen,

By all their winding play;

Their Confcience is a Worm within,
That gnaws them night and day.

Ah Moore! thy fkill were well employ'd,
And greater gain would rife,

If thou could't make the Courtier void
The Worm that never dies!

O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane,
Who fett'ft our entrails free ;
Vain is thy Art, thy Powder vain,
Since Worms fhall eat ev'n thee.

Our Fate thou only can'ft 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.

F

Written in the Year 1733.

.I.

Lutt'ring spread thy purple Pinions,
Gentle Cupid, o'er my Heart;

I a Slave in thy Dominions;
Nature must give Way to Art.

II.

Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Nightly nodding o'er your Flocks,

See my weary Days confuming,
All beneath yon flow'ry Rocks.

III.

Thus the Cyprian Goddefs weeping,
Mourn'd Adonis, darling Youth:
Him the Boar in Silence creeping,
Gor'd with unrelenting Tooth.

IV.

Cynthia, tune harmonious Numbers;
Fair Difcretion, ftring the Lyre;
Sooth my ever-waking Slumbers:
Bright Apollo, lend thy Choir.

V.

Gloomy Pluto, King of Terrors,
Arm'd in adamantine Chains,
Lead me to the Crystal Mirrors,
Wat'ring foft Elyfian Plains.

VI.

Mournful Cyprefs, verdant Willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's Brows,.
Morpheus hov'ring o'er my Pillow,
Hear me pay my dying Vows.

VI.

Melancholy fmooth Meander,

Swiftly purling in a Round,
On thy Margin Lovers wander,
With thy flow'ry Chaplets crown'd.

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VIII.

Thus when Philomela drooping,.

Softly feeks her filent Mate,

See the Bird of Juno stooping;

Melody refigns to Fate."

I. ...

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,
Not grave thro' Pride, nor gay thro' Folly,
An equal Mixture of good Humour,
And fenfible foft Melancholy.

"Has fhe no faults then (Envy fays) Sir?"
Yes, he has one, I must aver:

When all the World confpires to praise her,
The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.

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