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The Learn'd theinselves we Bonk-worms naine,

The Blockhead is a Slow-worm; 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 ;
First from a Worm they take their rise ,

And in a Worm decay.
The Flatterer an Earwig grows ;

Thus Worms suit all conditions;
Misers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus,

And Death-watches Physicians,
That Statesinen have the Worm, is seen

By all their winding play ;
Their Conscience is a Worm within ,

That gnaws them night and day.
Ah Moore ! 'hy skill were well employ'd,

And greater gain would rise ,
If thou could'It make the Courrier void

The Worm that never dies!

O learned friend of Abchurch-Lane,

Who seri'ft our entrails free ; Vain is thy Art, thy Powder vain,

Since Worms shall eat ey'n thee.

Our Fate thou only can't adjourn

Some few short years, no more !
Evn Button's Wits to Worins shall turn,

Who Maggots were before.

SONG, BY A PERSON OF QUALITY.

Written in the Year 1733.

I.

FLUTT'RIN

LUTT'RING spread thy purple pinions ,
Gentle Cupid , o'er my heart ;
I a Nave in thy dominions ;
Naturs must give way to art.

II.

Mild Arcadians , ever blooming ,

Nightly nodding o'er your flocks , See my weary days consuming ,

All beneath yon flow'ry rocks.

III.

Thus the Cyprian Goddess weeping,

Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth: Him the boar, in silence creeping,

Gor'd with unrelenting tooth.

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Cynthia , tune harmonious numbers

Fair Discretion , Atring the lyre ;

Sooth my ever-waking Numbers :

Bright Apollo , lend thy choir.

V.

Gloomy Pluto , King of terrors ,

Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors ,

Wat'ring soft Elysian plains.

VI.

Mournful Cypress , verdant Willow,

Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morp ets hov'ring o'er my pillow,

Heas me pay my dying vows,

V I I.

Melancholy smooth Mæander,

Swifily purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander ,

With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd.

V II I.

Thus when Philomela , drooping,

Softly seeks her silent mate ,
See the bird of Juno stooping i

Melody resigns to Fate.

ON

A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT, I

KNOW the thing that's most uncommon ; ( Envy be silent, and a tend!) I know a reasonable woman,

Handsome and witty , yet a frien

Not warp'd by passion, aw'd by rumour,

Not grave thro' pride, or gay thro' folly , An equal inixture of good humour,

And sensible soft inelancholy.

» Has she no fanles then ( Envy says ) Şir?

Yes, she has one , I must aver :
When all the world conspires to praise her,

The woman's deaf , and does not hear.

ON

HIS GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM,

COMPOS ED 01

Marbles, Spars , Gemms, Ores , and Minerals.

HOU who shalt Atop, where Thames' translucent :

wave

Shines a broad mirror thro' the shadowy cave;
Where ling'ring drops from mio'ral roofs distil,

And pointed cryftals break the sparkling rill, Unpolish'd gemms no ray on pride bestow, And latent metals innocently glow : * Approach. Great Nature ftudiously behold! And eye the mine without a wish for gold. Approach : but awful! Lo! th' Ægerian grott, Where , nobly pensive, St. John fate and thought, Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole, And the bright flame was shot thro' Mar.hmont's soul. Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor, Who dare to love their country, and be poor.

TO Mrs. M. B.

ON HER BIRTH-D A Y.

OH be thou bleft with all that Hear'n ean send,
Long health , long youth, long pleasure, and a

friend :
Not with those toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and vanities that tire.
With added years if life bring nothing new ,
But like a sieve let ev'ry blessing through,
Some joy ftill lost, as each vain year runs o’er,
And all we gain, some fad reflection more ;
Is that a Birth-day ? 'tis alas ! too clear ,
Tis but the fun'ral of the former year.

Let joy or ease , let affluence or content,
And the gay conscience of a life well spent ,
Calm cr’ry thought, i nspirit ev'ry grace,

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