The EPIT A PH. HERE, five foot deep, lies on his back A cobler, farmonger, and quack; Who to the ftars in pure good-will Does to his best look upward ftill. His pills, his almanacks, or shoes : As he himself could, when above. 10 VERSES to be prefixed before BERNARD LINTOT'S New Mifcellany +. SOME OME Colinæus † praife, fome Bleau †, Some Plantin 1 to the reft prefer, And some esteem old Elzever ‡ ; I, for my part, admire Lintottus- The Oxford and Cambridge mifcellany, 8vo. Printers famous for having publifhed fine editions of the Bible, and of the Greek and Roman claffics. Stephens prints Heathen Greek, 'tis faid, Which fome can't conftrue, fome can't read : But all that comes from Lintot's hand A fcholar, or a wit or two : Lintot's for gen'ral use are fit ; 15 20 25 For fome folks read, but all folks fh 30 .1 To MR. JOHN MOORE, Author of the celebrated WORM-POWDERT. H OW much, egregious Moore, are we Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee, All human kind are worms. Man is a very worm by birth, This poem was wrote by Mr Popc. 5 That woman is a worm, we find, E'er fince our grandame's evil; She first convers'd with her own kind, 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, The flatterer an earwig grows ;. Thus worms fuit all conditions ; T Mifers are muck-worms, filk-worms beaux, And death watches phyficians. 10 15 That statesmen have the worm, is seen 25 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, 30 If thou couldft make the courtier void The worm that never dies! O learned friend of Abchurch-lane, Vain is thy art, thy powder vain, 35 Since worms fhall eat ev'n thee. Our fate thou only canft adjourn Some few short years, no more! Ev'n Button's wits * to worms shall turn, Who maggots were before. 40 VERSES Occafioned by an &c. at the end of Mr D'URFY's name in the title to one of his plays t. JOVE E call'd before him t'other day Were filent, which by fate's decree- To the sweet name of Tom D'Urfy. E fhew'd, a comma ne'er could claim Yet, making here a perfect botch, Thrufts your poor vowel from his notch; Button's coffee-houfe, in Covent-Garden, frequented by the wits of that time. This accident happened by Mr D'Urfy's having made a flourilh there, which the printer mistook for an &c. Hiatus mi valde deflendus! From which, good Jupiter, defend us! Than be no part in Tom D'Urfy. And made up half a 25 30 35 That of his grace he would proclaim Durfeius his true Latin name: For tho' without them both 'twas clear Himself could ne'er be Jupiter; 40 Yet they'd refign that poft fo high S ; B and L swore b— and w- An English letter's property In the great name of Tom D'Urfy. 45 In fhort, the reft were all in fray, From Chrift-cross to et cætera. They, tho' but standers-by, too mutter'd; Diphthongs and tripthongs fwore and flutter'd; That none had fo much right to be Part of the name of ftutt'ring T T-Tom-a-AS ·De—D'Ur-fy—fy. Then Jove thus fpake: With care and pain Ι 50 } 55 |