Conceal'd behind that ample fcreen, There was no filver to be seen. But to this parchment let the Drapier Oppofe his counter-charm of paper, And ring Wood's copper in our ears So loud till all the nation hears; That found will make the parchment shrivel, And drive the conjurers to the devil : And, when the fky is grown ferene, Our filver will appear again.
obfervation I have understood,
That two little vermin are kin to Will Wood. The fift is an infect they call a wood-louse, That folds up itself in itself for a houfe, 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 appears In fillets of brafs roll'd up to his ears: And over these fillets he wifely has thrown, To keep out of danger, a doublet of stone *. The loufe of the wood for a medicine is us'd, Or fwallow'd alive, or fkilfully bruis'd. And, let but our mother Hibernia contrive To fwallow Will Wood either bruis'd or alive,
*He was in gaol for debt.
She need be no more with the jaundice poffeft, 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 fcratch, And chambermaids chriften this worm a death-watch; Becaufe like a watch it always cries click:
Then woe be to thofe in the house who are fick : For, as fure as a gun, they will give up the ghost, If the maggot cries click when it fcratches the poft. But a kettle 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 recover. Such a worm was Will Wood, when he fcratch'd at the
Of a governing ftatefman or favourite whore :
The death of our nation he feem'd to foretell, 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 fcald 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 would boil This coiner of raps * in a cauldron of oil.
Then chufe which you please, and let each bring a faggot, For our fear's at an end with the death of the maggot.
ON WOOD THE IRON-MONGER. 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 roystering fellows Would fit whole evenings at the alehouse : His wife and children wanted bread, While he went always drunk to bed. This vapouring fcab must needs devise To ape the thunder of the fkies : With brass two fiery fteeds he fhod, To make a clattering as they trod. Of polifh'd brass his flaming car Like lightning dazzled from afar, And up he mounts into the box, And he muft thunder, with a pox. Then furious he begins his march, Drives rattling o'er a brazen arch: With fquibs 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 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 bafe ;
They laugh'd at fuch an Irish blunder, To take the noife of brafs for thunder.
The moral of this tale is proper, Apply'd to Wood's adulter'd copper: Which, as he fcatter'd, we like dolts Miftook at firft for thunder-bolts; Before the Drapier fhot a letter, (Nor Jove himself could do it better) Which, lighting on th' impoftor's crown, Like real thunder knock'd him down.
WILL WOOD'S PETITION TO THE PEOPLE OF IRELAND; Being an excellent NEW SONG, fuppofed to be made and fung in the Streets of DUBLIN, by WILLIAM WOOD, Iron-monger and Half-penny-monger.
My dear Irish folks,
Come leave off your jokes,
And buy up my half-pence fo fine; So fair and fo bright,
They'll give you delight; Obferve, how they gliften and thine!
They'll fell, to my grief,
As cheap as neck-beef,
For counters at cards to your wife;
And every day
Your children may play
Span-farthing, or tofs on the knife.
Come hither, and try;
I'll teach you to buy
A pot of good ale for a farthing : Come; three-pence a score,
I ask you no more,
And a fig for the Drapier and Hardinge *. When tradefmen have gold,
The thief will be bold,
By day and by night for to rob him: My copper is fuch,
No robber will touch, And fo you may daintily bob him.
The little black-guard,
Who gets very hard
His half-pence for cleaning your fhoes: When his pockets are cramm'd
With mine and be d-'d,
He may fwear he has nothing to lofe.
Here's half-pence in plenty,
For one you'll have twenty, Though thoufands are not worth a pudden : Your neighbours will think,
When your pocket cries chink,
You are grown plaguy rich on a sudden.
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