University of Virginia Library

Sly Merry Andrew, the last Southwark Fair
(At Barthol'mew He did not much appear;
So peevish was the Edict of the May'r.)
At Southwark, therefore, as his Tricks He show'd,
To please our Masters, 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 traverses the Stage:
Why how now, Andrew! cries his Brother Droll,
To-Day's Conceit, methinks, is something dull:
Come on, Sir, 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 hast no Pretence:
Learning Thy Talent is; but Mine is Sense.
That busie Fool I was, which Thou art now;
Desirous to correct, not knowing how;
With very good Design, but little Wit,
Blaming or praising Things, as I thought fit.
I for this Conduct had what I deserv'd;
And dealing honestly, was almost starv'd.
But Thanks to my indulgent Stars, I Eat;
Since I have found the Secret to be Great.
O dearest Andrew, says the humble Droll,
Henceforth may I Obey, and Thou Controll:
Provided Thou impart Thy useful Skill.
Bow then, says Andrew; and, for once, I will.
Be of your Patron's Mind, whate'er He says;
Sleep very much; Think little; and Talk less:
Mind neither Good nor Bad, nor Right nor Wrong;
But Eat your Pudding, Slave; and Hold your Tongue.

A Rev'rend Prelate stopt his Coach and Six,
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.