pays whole years of thankless pain, This more than A PROLOGUE. By Mr. POPE. To a Play for Mr. DENNIS's Benefit, in 1733, when he was old, blind, and in great Distress, a little before his Death. A S when that Hero, who in each Campaign, Had brav'd the Goth, and many a Vanda! Lay Fortune-ftruck, a spectacle of Woe! 5 VER. 6. But pitied Belifarius, etc.] Nothing could be more happily imagined than this allufion, or finelier conducted. And the continued pleasantry fo delicately touched, that it took nothing from the self fatisfaction the Critic, who heard it, had in his merit, or the Audience in their charity. With Was there a Chief but melted at the Sight? 9 How chang'd from him who made the boxes groan, If there's a Senior, who contemns this age; And be the Critic's, Briton's, Old Man's Friend. fo masterly a hand has the Poet profecuted, in this benevolent irony, that end, which he fuppofed Dennis himself, had he the wit to fee, would have the ingenuity to approve. This dreaded Satirift, Dennis will confefs, Foe to his pride, but Friend to his Distress. VER. 7. Was there a chief, etc.] The fine figure of the Commander in that capital Picture of Belifarius at Chiswick, fupplied the Poet with this beautiful idea, MACE R: Α CHARACTER. HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown, 'Twas all th' Ambition his high foul could feel, So fome coarfe Country Wench, almoft decay'd, 14 Thought wondrous honeft, tho' of mean degree, In a tranflated Suit, then tries the Town, And in four Months a batter'd Harridan. 20 24 To Mr. JOHN MOORE, AUTHOR of the celebrated W O R M How POWDER. TOW much, egregious Moore, are we Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee, Man is a very Worm by birth, That Woman is a Worm, we find The Learn'd themfelves we Book-worms name, The Blockhead is a Slow-worm; The Nymph whofe tail is all on flame, The Fops are painted Butterflies, That flutter for a day; First from a Worm they take their rise, The Flatterer an Earwig grows ;. Thus Worms fuit all conditions ; Mifers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus, That Statefmen have the Worm, is feen' Their Confcience is a Worm within, Ah Moore! thy fkill were well employ'd, If thou could't make the Courtier void 5 |