Α

S the Chameleon, who is known

To have no Colors of his own;

But borrows from his, Neighbour's Hue IT
His White or Black, his Green or Blew;

And struts as much in ready Light,

Which Credit gives Him upon Sight; st As if the Rain-bow were in Tail

Settl'd on Him, and his Heirs Male:

So the young 'Squire, when first He comes

From Country Schole, 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 Santers wildly up and down ;

'Till fome Acquaintance, good or bad, bankn

Takes notice of a staring Lad; 225

Admits Him in among the Gang:

They jeft, reply! difpute, haranguesame CarA
He acts and talks, as They befriend Him,

Smear'd with the Colors, which They lend Him..__

Thus merely, las his Fortune chances, d

His Merit or his Vice advances.

HT

If happly He the Sect 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 Wisdom fets all EUROPE right;
And teaches MARLBRO 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 Stocks will Fall or Rife;
Holds Poverty the greatest Vice.
Thinks Wit the Bane of Conversation;
And fays, that Learning fpoils a Nation.

But if, at first, He minds his Hits,
And drinks Champaine among the Wits;
Five deep, He Toafts the tow'ring Laffes;
Repeats you Verfes wrote on Glaffes;
Is in the Chair; prefcribes the Law;
And Lies with Thofe he never faw.

MERRT ANDREW

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 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 traverses 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 Emblematic Worship mean?
Quoth ANDREW; Honest English let Us fpeak:
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 Sense.
That bufie Fool I was, which Thou art now;
Defirous 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 deferv'd;
And dealing honeftly, was almost starv'd.
But Thanks to my indulgent Stars, I Eat;
Since I have found the Secret to be Great.
O dearest ANDREW, fays the humble Droll,
Henceforth may I Obey, and Thou Controll;

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 less:
Mind neither Good nor Bad, nor Right nor Wrong;
But Eat your Pudding, Slave; and Hold your Tongue.

A Rev'rend Prelate ftopt 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.

A

SIMIL

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 Simile;)

A SQUIRREL fpend his little Rage,
In jumping round a rowling Cage?
The Cage, as either Side 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.

E.

So

So fares it with thofe merry Blades,

That frisk it under PINDUS' Shades.
In noble Songs, and lofty Odes,
They tread on Stars, and talk with Gods.
Still Dancing in an airy Round:

Still pleas'd with their own Verses Sound.
Brought back, how faft foe'er they go:
Always aspiring; always low.

SAY, Sire of Infects, mighty SOL,
(A Fly upon the Chariot-Pole
Cries out :) what Blew-Bottle alive
Did ever with such 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 Valor Sav'd the finking State.
So talk two Idle buzzing Things;
Tofs up their Heads, and stretch their Wings.
But let the Truth to Light be brought:
This neither Spoke, nor t'other Fought:
No Merit in their own Behav'or:

Both rais'd, but by their Party's Favor.

A

EPI