He acts and talks, as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours, which they lend him.
Thus merely, as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances,
If haply he the fect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their myfterious face :
He drinks his coffee without lace.
This week his mimic-tongue runs o'er
What they have faid the week before,
His wifdom fets all Europe right;'
And teaches Marlborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet
With folks who have more wealth than wit
He loves cheap Port, and double Bub;
And fettles in the HUM-DRUM club:
He learns how ftocks will fall or rife;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation;
And fays that learning spoils a nation.
But if, at firft, he minds his hits,
And drinks Champaigne among the wits;
Five deep he toasts the towering laffes;
Repeats you verfes wrote on glaffes;
Is in the chair; prefcribes the law;
And lyes with those he never faw.
SLY Merry Andrew, the last Southwark fair
(At Barthol'mew he did not much appear:
So peevish was the edict of the Mayor)
At Southwark therefore as his tricks he fhow'd,
To please our mafters, and his friends the croud;
A huge neats tongue he in his right hand held :
His left was with a good black-pudding fill'd.
With a grave look, in this odd equipage,
The clownish mimic traverfes the stage:
Why how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll,
To-day's conceit, methinks, is fomething dull:
Come on, Sir, to our worthy friends explain,
What does your emblematick worship mean?
Quoth Andrew; honest English let us speak:
Your emble (what d'ye call't) is heathen Greek.
To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence:
Learning thy talent is, but mine is fenfe.
That bufy fool I was, which thou art now;
Defirous to correct, not knowing how;
With very good defign, but little wit,
Blaming or praifing things, as I thought fit.
I for this conduct had what I deserv'd;
And dealing honeftly, was almoft ftarv'd.
But, thanks to my indulgent ftars, I eat;
Since I found the fecret to be great.
O, dearest Andrew, fays the humble droll,
Henceforth may I obey, and thou controll;
Provided thou impart thy ufeful skill.-
Bow then, fays Andrew; and, for once, I will.
Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says;
Sleep very much; think little; and talk lefs:
Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong,
But eat your pudding, flave; and hold your tongue.
A reverend prelate ftopt his coach and fix,
To laugh a little at our Andrew's tricks.
But when he heard him give this golden rule,
Drive on (he cry'd); this fellow is no fool.
DEAR Thomas, did'st thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
There, Thomas, didft thou never fee
('Tis but by way of Simile)
A fquirrel spend his little rage,
In jumping round a rowling cage?
The cage, as either fide turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells a-top?
Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs :
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
He never gets two inches higher.
So fares it with those merry blades,
That frisk it under Pindus' fhades.
In noble fongs, and lofty odes,
They tread on ftars, and talk with Gods;
Still dancing in an airy round,
Still pleas'd with her own verfes' found;
Brought back, how faft foe'er they go,
Always afpiring, always low.
SAY, Sire of infects, mighty Sol,
(A Fly upon the chariot pole
Cries out) what Blue-bottle alive
Did ever with fuch fury drive?
Tell Belzebub, great father, tell,
(Says t'other, perch'd upon the wheel)
Did ever any mortal Fly
Raife fuch a cloud of daft, as I?
My judgement turn'd the whole debate :
My valour fav'd the finking ftate.
So talk two idle buzzing things;
Tofs up their heads, and ftretch their wings.
But let the truth to light be brought :
This neither spoke, nor t'other fought:
No merit in their own behaviour:
Both rais'd, but by their party's favour.
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