Expos'd, to blind the nation's eyes, On WOOD the Iron-monger. SAL Written in the Year 1725. ALMONEUS, as the Grecian tale is, Was a mad copper-fmith of Elis; Up at his forge by morning peep, No creature in the lane could fleep. Among a crew of royft'ring fellows Would fit whole ev'nings at the alehouse: His wife and children wanted bread, While he went always drunk to bed. A patent to William Wood, for coining half-pence. This vap'ring fcab muft needs devife When Jove, in pity to the town, With real thunder knock'd him down. Then what a huge delight were all in, To fee the wicked varlet fprawling; They fearch'd his pockets on the place, And found his copper all was base; They laugh'd at fuch an Irish blunder, To take the noise of brass for thunder. proper, The moral of this tale is Before от Before the Drapier fhot a letter, WOOD an INS E c T. B Written in the Year 1725. Y long observation I have understood, The first is an infect they call a wood-louse, Inclos'd cap-a-pe in a strong coat of mail. pears In fillets of brafs roll'd up to his ears: The loufe of the wood for a med'cine is Or swallow'd alive, or skilfully bruis'd. *He was in jail for debt. And And let but our mother Hibernia contrive To fwallow Will Wood either bruis'd or alive, She need be no more with the jaundice pofseft, Or fick of obftructions, and pains in ber cheft. The next is an infect we call a wood-worm, That lies in old wood like a hare in her form; With teeth or with claws it will bite or will fcratch, And chambermaids chriften this worm a death-watch; Because like a watch it always cries click: Then woe be to thofe in the houfe who are fick: For, as fure as a gun, they will give up the ghoft, If the maggot cries click, when it fcratches the poft. But akettle of fcalding hot water injected Infallibly cures the timber affected: The omen is broken, the danger is over; The maggot will die, and the fick will re cover. Such Such a worm was Will Wood, when he fcratch'd at the door Of a governing ftatesman or favourite whore : The death of our nation he feem'd to foretel, And the found of his brafs we took for our knell. But now, fince the Drapier hath heartily maul'd him, I think the best thing we can do is to scald him. For which operation there's nothing more proper Than the liquor he deals in, his own melted copper; Unless, like the Dutch, you rather wouldboil This coiner of traps in a cauldron of oil. Then chufe which you pleafe, and let each bring a faggot, For our fear's at an end with the death of the maggot. A cant word in Ireland for a counterfeit half-penny. ΤΟ |