But juft endur'd the Winter fhe began,

And in four Months a batter'd Harridan.

Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and fhrunk, 25
To bawd for others, and go fhares with Punk.

To Mr. JOHN MOORE,

AUTHOR of the celebrated WORM-POWDER.

HOW 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 themselves we Book-worms name,
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;

Firft from a Worm they take their rise,

And in a Worm decay.

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The Flatterer an Earwig grows;

Thus Worms fuit all conditions ;
Mifers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus,
And Death watches Physicians.

That Statefmen 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 nevre 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'st adjourn
Some few short years, no more!
Ev'n Button's Wits to Worms shall turn,
Who Maggots were before.

SONG,

SONG, by a Perfon of Quality.

Written in the Year 1733.

FLutt'ring fpread thy purple Pinions,

Gentle Cupid, o'er my Heart;

I a Slave in thy Dominions;
Nature muft 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.

VII.

Melancholy smooth Maander,
Swiftly purling in a Round,
On thy Margin Lovers wander,

With thy flow'ry Chaplets crown'd.

VIII.

Thus when Philomela drooping,
Softly feeks her filent Mate,
See the Bird of June stooping;
Melody refigns to Fate.

On a certain LADY at COURT.

I Know the thing that's moft 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 the no faults then (Envy fays) Sir?"
Yes, fhe has one, I must aver:

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

Оп

On his GROTTO at TWICKENHAM,

COMPOSED OF

MARBLES, SPARS, GEMS, ORES, and MINERALS,

THOU who fhalt ftop, where Thames' tranflucent wave
Shines a broad Mirrour thro' the fhadowy Cave;
Where ling'ring drops from min'ral Roofs diftil,
And pointed Crystals break the sparkling Rill,
Unpolish'd Gems no Ray on Pride bestow,
And latent Metals innocently glow:

S

Approach. Great NATURE ftudiously behold!
And eye the Mine without a wish for Gold.
Approach but awful! Lo! th' Ægerian Grott †,
Where, nobly penfive, ST. JOHN fat and thought; 10
Where British fighs from dying WYNDHAM stole,
And the bright flame was fhot thro' MARCHMONT'S

Soul.

Let fuch, fuch only, tread this facred Floor,
Who dare to love their Country, and be poor.

To Mrs. M. B. on her BIRTH-DAY.

H be thou bleft with all that Heav'n can fend,

OH

Long Health, long Youth, long Pleasure, and a
Friend:

Not with thofe Toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and Vanities that tire.

The improving and finishing his Grotto was the favourite amufement of his declining Years; and the beauty of his poetic genius, in the difpofition and ornaments of this romantic recefs, appears to as much advantage as in his best contrived Poems,

+ Alluding to Numa's projecting his fyflem of Politics in this Grott, affifted, as he gave out, by the Goddess Ægeria.