To a Play for Mr DENNIS'S Benefit, in 1733, when he was old, blind, and in great distress, a little before his Death.
S when that Hero, who in each Campaign,
Had brav'd the Goth, and many a
Lay Fortune-ftruck, a fpectacle of Woe!
Wept by each Friend, forgiv'n by ev'ry Foe:
Was there a gen'rous, a reflecting mind.
But pitied BELISARIUS old and blind?
Was there a Chief but melted at the Sight?
A common Soldier, but who clubb'd his Mite?
Such, fuch emotions should in Britons rise,
When prefs'd by want and weakness DENNIS lies;
Dennis, who long had warr'd with modern Huns,
Their Quibbles routed, and defy'd their Puns;
A defp'rate Bulwark, fturdy, firm, and fierce
Against the Gothic Sons of frozen verfe:
How chang'd from him who made the boxes groan,
And shook the stage with Thunders all his own!
Stood up to dash each vain PRETENDER's hope!
Maul the French Tyrant, or pull down the POPE!
If there's a Briton then, true bred and born,
Who holds Dragoons and wooden shoes in scorn; 20
If there's a Critic of diftinguifh'd rage;
If there's a Senior, who contemns this age;
Let him to night his just affistance lend,
And be the Critic's, Briton's, Old-Man's Friend.
HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown, First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town, 'Twas all th' Ambition his high foul could feel, To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steel. Some Ends of verfe his Betters might afford, gave the harmless fellow a good word.
up with thefe, he ventur'd on the Town,
And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crown.
There he stop'd short, nor fince has writ a title :
But has the Wit to make the most of little :
Like ftunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got
Sufficient fap at once to bear and rot.
Now he begs Verfe, and what he gets commends,
Not of the Wits his foes, but fools his friends.
So fome coarfe Country Wench, almost decay'd,
Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid:
Aukward and fupple, each devoir to pay;
She flatters her good Lady twice a day;
Thought wondrous honeft, tho' of mean degree,
And strangely 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.
Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk,
To bawd for others, and go fhares with Punk.
AUTHOR of the celebrated WoR M POWDER.
OW much, egregious Moore, are we
Deceiv'd by fhews and forms!
Whate'er we think, whate'er we see,
All human kind 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 antient Worm, the Devil.
The Learn'd themselves we Book-worms name,
The Blockhead is a Slow-worm;
The Nymph whofe 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 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 seen
By all their winding play;
Their Confcience is a Worm within,
That gnaws them night and day.
Ah Moore! thy skill 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'st 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 Butten's Wits to Worms shall turn,
Who Maggots were before.
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