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So the young fquire, when first he comes
From country school to Will's or Tom's,
And equally, in truth, is fit
To be a statesman, or a wit;
Without one notion of his own,
He faunters wildly up and down,
Till fome acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the
They jeft, reply, difpute, harangue :
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 sect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their mysterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace;
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have faid the week before;
His wisdom 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 champaign among the wits;
Five deep he toafts the towering laffes;
Repeats you verses wrote on glaffes;
Is in the chair; prefcribes the law;
And lies with thofe he never faw.
LY 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 show'd,
To please our masters, and his friends the croud;
A huge neat's-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, fir, to our worthy friends explain,
What does your emblematic worship mean?
Quoth Andrew, Honest English let us speak :
Your emble-(what d' ye call 't) is heathen Greek.
To tongue or pudding thou haft 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.
for this conduct had what I deserv'd; And, dealing honeftly, was almoît starv'd. But, thanks to my indulgent stars, I eat; Since I have found the fecret to be great. O, dearest Andrew, says the humble droll, Henceforth may I obey, and thou control; Provided thou impart thy useful skill. Bow then, fays Andrew; and, for once, I will. Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he fays; 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 stopt 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 cried); this fellow is no fool.
DEAR Thomas, didft thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
There, Thomas, didft thou never fee
('Tis but by way of fimile)
A fquirrel fpend his little rage,
In jumping round a rowling cage;
The cage, as either fide turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells at 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 frifk it under Pindus' fhades.
In noble fong, and lofty odes,
They tread on ftars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy round,
Still pleas'd with their own verfes' found;
Brought back, how faft foe'er they go,
Always afpiring, always low.
SAY, fire 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 duft 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 stretch their wings.
But, let the truth to light be brought,
This neither fpoke, nor t'other fought :
No merit in their own behaviour:
Both rais'd, but by their party's favour.
GREAT Bacchus, born in thunder and in fire,
By native heat afferts his dreadful fire.
Nourish'd near fhady rills and cooling ftreams,
He to the nymphs avows his amorous flames.
To all the brethren at the Bell and Vine,
The moral fays; mix water with your wine.
RANK carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats; He eats more than fix, and drinks more than he eats. Four pipes after dinner he conftantly smokes; And feafons his whiffs with impertinent jokes. Yet fighing, he fays, we must certainly break; And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak ; For of late I invite him but four, times a week.
O John I ow'd great obligation;.
But John unhappily thought fit,
To publish it to all the nation:
Sure John, and I are more than quit..