Sly Merry Andrew, the last Southwark fair; <br />(At Bartholomew he did not much appear, <br />So peevish was the dict of the Mayor) <br />At Southwark, therefore, as his tricks he show'd, <br />To please our masters, and his friends the crowd, <br />A huge neat's tongue he in his right hand held, <br />His left was with a good black pudding fill'd. <br />With a grave look, in this odd equipage, <br />The clownish mimic traverses the stage: <br />Why, how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll, <br />To-day's conceit methinks is something dull. <br />Come on, Sir, to our worthy friends explain <br />What does your emblematic Worship mean? <br />Quoth Andrew, honest English let us speak; <br />Your emble - (what d'ye call it?) is Heathen Greek. <br />To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence; <br />Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense. <br />That busy fool I was which thou art now, <br />Desirous to correct, not knowing how, <br />Blaming or praising things as I thought fit: <br />I for this conduct had what I deserved. <br />And dealing honestly was almost starved. <br />But thanks to my indulgent stars, I eat, <br />Since I have found the secret to be great. <br />O dearest Andrew, says the humble droll, <br />Henceforth may I obey and thou control; <br />Provided thou impart thy useful skill - <br />Bow then, says Andrew, and for once I will.- <br />Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says; <br />Sleep very much; think little, and talk less: <br />Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong, <br />But eat your pudding, slave, and hold your tongue. <br /> <br />A reverend prelate stopp'd his couch-and-six <br />To laugh a little at our Andrew's tricks: <br />But when he heard him give this golden rule, <br />Drive on (he cried) this fellow is no fool.<br /><br />Matthew Prior<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/merry-andrew/
