or More, (Edward), a late ingenious writer, was bred a linen-draper, but quitted business to join the retinue of the muses; and he certainly had a very happy and pleasing talent for poetry. In his Trial of Selim the Persian, he complimented lord Lyttelton in an elegant kind of panegyric, couched under the appearance of accusation: and his Fables for the female sex, for easy versification, poignant satire, and striking morals, approach nearer to the manner of Gay than any other of the numerous imitations of that author. He wrote also three dramatic pieces; The Gamester, a tragedy; The Foundling, and Gil Blas, comedies. The success of these was not such as they merited: the first of them having met with a cold reception, ception, for no other apparent reason but because it too nearly touched a favourite and fashionable vice; and the second having been condemned for its supposed resemblance to Sir Richard Steele's *Conscious Lovers*, but to which good judges have been inclined to give it greatly the preference. Mr. Moore married a lady of the name of Hamilton, daughter to Mr. Hamilton table-decker to the princesses; who had herself a very poetical turn, and has been said to have afflited him in the writing of his tragedy. One specimen of her poetry, however, was handed about before their marriage, and has since appeared in print in different collections of songs, particularly in one called the *Goldfinch*. It was addressed to a daughter of the famous Stephen Duck; and begins with the following stanza:

Would you think it, my Duck? (for the fault I must own), Your Jenny at last is quite covetous grown: Tho' millions if Fortune should lavishly pour, I still shou'd be wretched if I had not More.

And after half a dozen stanzas more, in which, with great ingenuity and delicacy, and yet in a manner that expresses a sincere affection, she has quibbled on our author's name, she concludes with the following lines:

You may wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be, Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me; But you shan't know his name, tho' I told you before, It begins with an M, but I dare not say More.

In the year 1753, Mr. Moore commenced a weekly miscellaneous paper, intitled *The World*, by Adam Fitz-Adam; in which undertaking he was assisted by Lord Chesterfield with some essays. This paper was collected into volumes, and Mr. Moore died soon after.