Imatges de pÓgina

Expos’d, to blind the nation's eyes,
A * parchment of prodigious size;
Concealed behind that ample screen,
There was no silver to be seen.
But to this parchment let the Drapier
Oppose his counter-charm of paper,
And ring Wood's copper in our ears
So loud 'till all the nation hears;
That soundwill make the parchment shrivel
And drive the conj’rers to the devil:
And when the sky is grown serene,
Our silver will appear again.

On WOOD the Iron-monger.

Written in the Year 1725.


as the Grecian tale is, Was a mad copper-smith of Elis; Up at his forge by morning peep, No creature in the lane could sleep. Among a crew of royst’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 scab must needs devise

the thunder of the skies :
With brass two fiery steeds he shod,
To make a clátt’ring as they trod.
Of polish'd brass his flaming car
Like lightning dazzled from afar,
And up he mounts into the box,
And he must thunder, with a pox.
Then furious he begins his march,
Drives rattling o'er a brazen arch:
With squibs and crackers arm’d, to throw
Among the trembling croud below.
All ran to prayers, both priests and laity,
To pacify this angry deity;
When Fove, in pity to the town,
With real thunder knock'd him down.
Then what a huge delight were all in,
To see the wicked varlet sprawling;

They search'd his pockets on the place, And found his copper all was base; They laugh'd at such an Irish blunder, To take the noise of brass for thunder.

The moral of this tale is proper, Apply'd to Wood's adulter'd copper: Which, as he scatter'd, we like dolts Miltook at first for thunder-bolts ;


Before the Drapier shot a letter,
(Nor Jove himself could do it better)
Which, lighting on th’impostor's crown,
Like real thunder knock'd him down.



Written in the Year 1725.

BY Y long observation I have understood,

That two little vermin are kin to

Will Wood. The first is an insect they call a wood-louse, That folds up itself in itself for a house: As round as a ball, without head, without

tail, Inclos'd cap-a-pe in a strong coat of mail. And thus William Wood to my fancy ap

pears In fillets of brass roll’d up to his ears : Andover these fillets he wisely has thrown, To keep out of danger, * a doublet of stone, The louse of the wood for a med'cine is

us’d, Or swallow'd alive, or skilfully bruis’d.

* He was in jail for debt.


And let but our mother Hibernia contrive
To swallow Will Wood either bruis'd or

She need be no more with the jaundice pof-

sest, Or fick of obstructions, and pains in her

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 scratch, And chambermaids christen this worm a

death-watch; Because like a watch it always cries click: Then woe be to those in the house who are

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For, as sure as a gun, they will give up

the ghost, If the maggot cries click, when it scratches

the post.

But a kettle of scalding hot water injected
Infallibly cures the timber affected :
The omen is broken, the danger is over ;
The maggot will dic, and the tick will re-



Such a worm was Will Wood, when he

scratch'd at the door Of a governing statesman or favourite

whore : The death of our nation he seem'd to foretel, And the sound of his brass we took for our

knell. But now, since the Drapier hath heartily

mauld 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 melt

ed copper ; Unless, like the Dutch, you rather wouldboil This coiner of traps in a cauldron of oil. Then chuse which you please, 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.


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