To the Ingenious Mr. MOORE, Author of the Celebrated WORM-POWDER.
By Mr. POPE.
HOW much, Egregious MOORE, are we
Deceiv'd by Shews, and Forms?
Whate'er we think, whate'er we see,
All Human Race are Worms.
Man,
is a very Worm by Birth,
Proud Reptile, vile and vain,
A-while he crawls upon the Earth,
Then shrinks to Earth again.
That
Woman
is a Worm we find,
E'er since our Gran'am's Evil:
She first convers'd with her own kind,
That Ancient Worm, the
Devil.
But whether Man, or He, God knows,
Foecundified
her Belly,
With that pure Stuff from whence we rose,
The Genial
Vermicelli.
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 Butter-Flies,
That flutter for a Day;
First from a Worm they took their Rise,
Then in a Worm decay.
The
Flatterer
an Ear-wig grows.
Some Worms suit all Conditions;
Misers
are Muck-Worms, Silk-Worms
Beaus,
And Death-Watches
Physicians.
That
Statesmen
have a Worm is seen
By all their winding Play:
Their Conscience is a Worm within,
That gnaws them Night and Day.
Ah! MOORE! thy Skill were well Employ'd,
And greater Gain wou'd rise,
If thou could'st make the Courtier void
The Worm that never Dies.
O Learned Friend of
Abchurch-Lane,
Who sett'st our Entrails free,
Vain is thy Art, thy Powder Vain,
Since Worms shall Eat ev'n Thee.
Thou only can'st our Fates adjourn,
Some few short Years, no more;
Ev'n BUTTON's Wits to Worms shall turn,
Who
Maggots
were before.
FINIS.
LONDON:
Printed for
E. Curll
at the
Dial
and
Bible
against St.
Dunstan's Church
in
Fleetstreet.
Price Two Pence. Where may be had, Mr. POPE's
Court Poems.
Price Six Pence. 1716.
N. B.
Speedily will be Publish'd, some more of Mr. POPE's Pieces, and all his Writings for the Future, except HOMER, will be Printed for
E. Curll.