The flatterer an earwig grows;

Thus worms fuit all conditions ; Mifers are muck-worms, filk-worms beaus, And death-watches physicians.

That statesmen 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 wou'd rife,

If thou could'ft make the courtier void The worm that never 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'ft adjourn
Some few fhort years, no more!
* Ev'n Button's wits to worms fhall turn,
Who maggots were before.

* Button's coffee-houfe, in Covent-Garden, frequented by the wits of that time.

*VERSES

Occafioned by an etc. at the End of Mr. D'Urfy's Name in the Title to one of his Plays*.

J

OVE call'd before him t'other day The vowels, U, 0, I, E, A; All diphthongs, and all confonants, Either of England, or of France; And all that were, or wifh'd to be, Rank'd in the name of Tom D'Urfy. Fierce is this caufe; the letters fpoke all, Liquids grew rough, and mutes turn'd vocal. Those four proud fyllables alone

Were filent, which by fate's decree Chim'd in so smoothly, one by one,

To the sweet name of Tom D'Urfy. N, by whom names fubfift, declar'd, To have no place in this was hard; And 2 maintain'd 'twas but his due Still to keep company with U; So hop'd to stand no less than he In the great name of Tom D'Urfy. E fhew'd, a comma ne'er could claim A place in any British name; Yet, making here a perfect botch, Thrusts your poor vowel from his notch;

* This accident happen'd a flourish there, which the by Mr. D'Urfy's having made printer mistook for an etc.

Hiatus mi valde deflendus!

From which, good Jupiter, defend us !
Sooner I'd quit my part in thee,
Than be no part in Tom D'Urfy,
P protefted, puff'd, and fwore,
He'd not be ferv'd fo like a beast;
He was a piece of emperor,

And made half
up a pope at least.
C vow'd, he'd frankly have releas'd
His double fhare in Cafar Caius
For only one in Tom Durfeius.
I, confonant and vowel too,
To Jupiter did humbly fue,
That of his grace he wou'd proclaim
Durfeius his true Latin name :

For though without them both 'twas clear
Himfelf could ne'er be Jupiter;
Yet they'd refign that poft fo high
To be the genitive, Durfei.
B and L fwore b--- and w---S;
X and Z cry'd, p--x and z---s;
G fwore by G--d, it ne'er should be;
And W wou'd not lofe, not he,
An English letter's property

In the great name of Tom D'Urfy,
In short, the reft were all in fray,
From chrift-crofs to et cætera.

They,

VERSES OCCASIONED BY AN etc. 105 They, tho' but ftanders-by, too mutter'd; Diphthongs and triphthongs fwore and Autter'd;

That none had fo much right to be
Part of the name of ftuttering T---
T--Tom--a--as---De--D'Ur--fy--fy.

Then Jove thus fpake: With care and pain
We form'd this name, renown'd in rhyme:
Not thine,* immortal Neufgermain !
Coft ftudious cabalifts more time.
Yet now, as then, you all declare,
Far hence to Egypt you'll repair,
And turn strange hi'roglyphicks there,
Rather than letters longer be,
Unless i'th' name of Tom D'Urfy.

Were you all pleas'd, yet what, I pray,
To foreign letters could I say?
What if the Hebrew next fhou'd aim
To turn quite backward D'Urfy's name?
Shou'd the Greek quarrel too, by Styx, I
Cou'd never bring in Pfi and Xi;
Qmicron and Omega from us

Would each hope to be O in Thomas;

* A poet, who used to make verfes ending with the laft fyllables of the names of those

perfons he praised; which Voiture turn'd against him in a poem of the same kind. And

And all th' ambitious vowels vie,
No less than Pythagorick Y,
To have a place in Tom D'Urfy.

Then, well-belov'd and trusty letters!
Cons'nants, and vowels much their betters,
We, willing to repair this breach,
And, all that in us lies, please each,
Et cæt'ra to our aid muft call;
Et cat'ra reprefents ye all:

Et cæt'ra therefore, we decree,
Henceforth for ever join'd shall be
To the great name of Tom D'Urfy.

* PROLOGUE

Defign'd for Mr. D'URFY's last play.

GR

ROWN old in rhyme, 'twere barbarous to discard

Your perfevering, unexhaufted bard: Damnation follows death in other men, But your damn'd poet lives, and writes again. Th' advent'rous lover is fuccessful ftill, Who strives to please the fair against her

will :

Be kind, and make him in his wishes easy, Who in your own defpite has ftrove to please ye.

He