long obfervation I have understood,
That two little vermin are kin to Will Wood.
The firft is an infect they call a wood-loufe,
That folds up itself in itself for a house,
As round as a ball, without head, without tail,
lacos'd cap-a-pe in a ftrong 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 med'cine is us'd,
Or fwallow'd alive, or skilfully bruis'd.
And, let but our mother Hibernia contrive
To fwallow Will Wood either bruis'd or alive,
She need be no more with the jaundice poffeft,
Or fick of abftructions, 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 scratch;
And chambermaids chriften this worm a dead-watch,
caufe 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 ghoft,
lf the maggot cries click when it scratches the poft.
Bnt 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 scratch'd
at the door

Of a governing statesman 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;
Cales, like the Dutch, you rather would boil
This coiner of raps + in a cauldron of oil.
Then choofe which you please, and let each bring
a faggot,
[maggot

For our fear's at an end with the death of the

ON WOOD THE IRONMONGER. 1725.

SALMONEUS, as the Grecian tale is,
Was a mad copperfmith 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 :

He was in goal for debt. + Counterfeit balfpence.

His wife and children wanted bread,
While he went always drunk to bed.
This vapouring fcab must needs devife
To ape the thunder of the fkies:
With brass two fiery steeds he shod,
To make a clattering as they trod.
Of polish'd brafs 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 crowd 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 base;
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 scatter'd, we like dolts,
Miftook at first 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 freets of Dublin, by William Wood, Ironmonger and Halfpenny-monger. 1725.

My dear Irish folks,
Come leave off your jokes,

And buy up my halfpence fo fine;
So fair and fo bright,
They'll give you delight;
Obferve how they gliften and fhine!

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 night and by day for to rob him:
My copper is fuch,

No robber will touch,

And so you may daintily bob him.

*The Drapier's printer.

The little blackguard,

Who gets very

hard

His halfpence 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 halfpence in plenty,
For one you'll have twenty,
Though thousands are not worth a pudden :
Your neighbours will think,
When your pocket cries chink,
You are grown plaguy rich on a fudden.

You will be my thankers,
I'll make you my bankers,

As good as Ben Burton or Fade *:
For nothing hall pafs

But my pretty brafs,

And then you'll be all of a trade.

I'm a fon of a whore

If I have a word more

To fay in this wretched condition.
If my coin will not pafs,
I muft die like an ass;
And fo I conclude my petition.

Both high men and low men, and thick men and
tall men,
[thrall men,
And rich men and poor men, and free men and
Will fuffer; and this man, and that man, and all men.
Which, &c.

The foldier is ruin'd, poor man! by his pay;
His five-pence will prove but a farthing a day,
For meat, or for drink; or he muft run away.
Which, &c.
When he pulls out his two-pence, the tapfter
fays not,

That ten times as much he must pay for his fhot;
And thus the poor foldier must foon go to pot.
Which, &c.

If he goes to the baker, the baker will huff,
And twenty-pence have for a two-penny loaf,
Then, dog, rogue, and rafcal, and fo kick and cuff.
Which, &c.

Again, to the market whenever he goes,
The butcher and foldier must be mortal foes;
One cuts off an ear, and the other a nofe.
Which, &c.

Two famous bankers.

Though at prefent he lives in a very large houfe There would then not be room in it left for a moul But the fquire's too wife, he will not take a foule Which, &

The farmer, who comes with his rent in this caf
For taking thefe counters, and being fo rash,
Will be kick'd out of doors, both himself and his traf
Which, &

For, in all the leafes that ever we hold,
We must pay our rent in good filver and gold,
And not in brafs tokens of fuch a bafe mold.

Which, &

The wifeft of lawyers all fwear, they will warran No money but filver and gold can be current; And, fince they will fwear it, we all may be fure on't Which, &

And I think, after all, it would be very ftrange To give current money for bafe in exchange, Like a fine lady swapping her moles for the mange Which, &c

But read the king's patent, and there you will find 'That no man need take them but who has a mind For which we must say that his Majesty's kind.

Which, &

Now God blefs the Drapier who open'd our eyes
I'm fure, by his book, that the writer is wife;
He shows us the cheat, from the end to the rife.
Which, &c

Nay, farther, he fhows it a very hard cafe,
That this fellow Wood, of a very bad race,
Should of all the fine gentry of Ireland take place
Which, &c

That he and his halfpence fhould come to weigh down

Our fubjects fo loyal and true to the crown;
But I hope, after all, that they will be his own.
Which, &c

This book, I do tell you, is writ for your goods,
And a very good book against Mr. Wood's;
If you ftand true together, he's left in the fuds.
Which, &c

Ye fhop-men, and trades-men, and farmers, go
read it;
For I think in my foul at this time that you need it
Or egad, if you don't, there's an end of your credit.
Which nobody can deny

A SERIOUS POEM

UPON WILLIAM WOOD,

Braf, Tinker, Hardwareman, Coiner, Founder, and Efquire.

Wats fees are o'ercome, we preferve them from ughter,

To be betters of wood, and drawers of water.
New, although to draw water is not very good;
Yet we all fhould rejoice to be bewers of Wood.

wn, it has often provok'd me to mutter,

That a rogue fo abfcure thould make fuch a clutter: But ancient Philofophers wifely remark, That old rotten Wood will fhine in the dark. The Heathens, we read, had Gods made of Wood, Who could do them no harm, if they did them no But this idol Wood may do us great evil; [good: Their Gods were of Wood; but our Wood is the Devil. To cut down fine Wood, is a very bad thing; And yet we all know much gold it will bring. Then if cutting down Woodbrings money good flore, Our money to keep, let us cut down one more. New hear an old tale. There anciently stood forget in what church) an image of Wood. Concerning

this image there went a prediction, It would burn a whole foreft; nor was it a fiction. Twas cut into faggots and put to the flame,

burn an old Friar, one Foreft by name. Xy tale is a wife one, if well understood: Find you but the Friar; and I'll find the Wood. Thear, among scholars there is a great doubt From what kind of tree this Wood was hewn out. Teague made a good pun by a brogue in his speech; And faid, By my foul, be's the for of a BEECH. Sene call him a Thorn, the curfe of the nation, As Thorns were defign'd to be from the creation. Same think him cut out from the poisonous Yew, Stocath whofe ill fhade no plant ever grew. Se fay he's a Birch, a thought very odd; For one but a dunce would come under his rod. Bet il tell you the fecret; but pray do not blab; He is an old ftump cut out of a Crab;

England has put this Crab to a hard ufe, Tudged our bones, and for drink give us verjuice; And therefore his witneffes juflly may boast, That none are more properly knights of the Poft. i ne'er could endure my talent to fmother; told you one tale, and I'll tell you another. Amer, to faften a faint in a nitch, Brda large asger-bole in the image's breech;

finding the flatue to make no complaint, He would ne'er be convinc'd it was a true faint. Whenthetrae Wood arrives, as he foon will, no doubt, (that's but a fham Wood they carry about *) What he is made of you quickly may find,

make the fame trial, and bore him bebind. Thaid you a groat, when you wimble his bum, He bellow as loud as the Devil in a drum.

me, I declare, you fhall have no denial; And there can be no harm in making a trial: And, when to the joy of your hearts he has roar'd, You may show him about for a new greaning-board. Hear one ftory more, and then I will stop. dreamt Wood was told he should die by a drop;

So methought he refolved no liquor to taste,
For fear the first drop might as well be his laff.
But dreams are like oracles; 'tis hard to explain 'cm;
For it prov'd that he died of a drop at Kilmainham
I wak'd with delight; and not without hope,
Very foon to fee Wood drop down from a rope.
How he! and how we, at each other fhould grin!
'Tis kindness to hold a friend up by the chin.
But foft! fays the Herald; I cannot agree;
For metal on metal is falfe Heraldry.
Why, that may be true; yet Wood upon Wood,
I'll maintain with my life, is Heraldry good.

TO DR. SHERIDAN.

SIR, Dec. 14. 1719 †, 9 at night. It is impoffible to know by your letter whether the wine is to be bottled to-morrow, or no. If it be, or be not, why did not you, in plain Englih, tell us fo?

For my part, it was by mere chance I came to fit with the ladies this night:

And if they had not told me there was a letter from you; and your man Alexander had not gone, and come back from the deanry; and the boy here had not been fent to let Alexander know I was here; I fhould have miffed the letter outright. Truly I don't know who's bound to be fending for corks to ftop your bottles, with a vengeance. Make a page of your own age, and fend your man Alexander to buy corks; for Saunders already has gone above ten jaunts.

Mrs. Dingley and Mrs. Johnson fay, truly they don't care for your wife's company, though they like your wine; but they had rather have it at their own houfe to drink in quiet. However, they own it is very civil in Mr. Sheridan to make the offer; and they cannot deny it. I wish Alexander fafe at St. Catharine's to-night, with all my heart and foul, upon my word and honour:

But I think it bafe in you to fend a poor fellow out fo late at this time of year, when one would not turn out a dog that one valued; I appeal to your friend Mr. Connor.

I would prefent my humble fervice to my lady Mountcafhel; but truly I thought fhe would have made advances to have been acquainted with me, as she pretended.

But now I can write no more, for you fee plainly my paper is ended.

2 P. S. Mrs. Dingley defires me fingly

[you; Her fervice to prefent you; hopes that will content But Johnson Madam is grown a fad dame, For want of converfe, and cannot send one verse. 3 P. S.

You keep fuch a twattling with you and your bottling;

But I fee the fum total, we fhall ne'er have a bottle;
The long and the fhort, we shall not have a quart.
I wish you would fign 't, that we have a pint.
For all your colloguing, I'd be glad of a knoggin:
But I doubt 'tis a fham; you won't give us a dram.
'Tis of fhine a month moon-full, you won't part
with a spoonful;

And I must be nimble, if I can fill my thimble.
You fee I won't stop, till I come to a drop;
But I doubt the oraculum is a poor fupernaculum;
Though perhaps you tell it for a grace, if we fmell it.

TO QUILCA,

STELLA.

A COUNTRY-HOUSE OF DR. SHERIDAN,

In no very good Repair. 1725.

LET me thy properties explain:
A rotten cabbin dropping rain;
Chimnies with fcorn rejecting fmoke;
Stools, tables, chairs, and bedileads broke.
Here elements have loft their ufes,
Air ripens not, nor earth produces;
In vain we make poor Shcelah toil,
Fire will not roaft, nor water boil.
Through all the valleys, hills, and plains,
The goddefs Want in triumph reigns;
And her chief officers of ftate,

Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait..

THE BLESSINGS OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 1725.

FAR from our debtors; no Dublin letters;
Not feen by our betters.

THE PLAGUES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.
A COMPANION with news; a great want of fhoes;
Eat lean meat, or choofe; a church without pews.
Our horfes aftray; no ftraw, oats, or hay;
December in May; our boys run away; all fer-
vants at play.

DR. SHERIDAN TO DR. SWIFT.
I'D have you to know, as fure as you're Dean,
On Thursday my cafk of Obrien I'll drain:
If my wife is not willing, I fay fhe's a quean;
And my right to the cellar, egad I'll maintain
As bravely as any that fought at Dunblain:
Go tell it her over and over again.

I hope, as I ride to the town, it won't rain;
For, fhould it, I fear it will cool my hot brain,
Entirely extinguifh my poetic vein;

And then I fhould be as ftupid as Kain.

Who preach'd on three heads, though he mention'd but twain.

Now Wardel's in hafte, and begins to complain; Your moft humble fervant, Dear Sir, I remain, T. S

Get Heliham, Walmsley, Delany, And fome Grattans, if there be any*: Take care you do not bid too many.

DR. SWIFT's ANSWER.

THE verfes you sent on the bottling your wine
Were, in every one's judgment, exceedingly fine
And I must confefs, as a dean and divine,
I think you infpir'd by the Mufes all nine.
I nicely examin'd them every line,
[fhin
And the worft of them all like a barn-door d
Oh, that Jove would give me fuch a talent
thine!

With Delany or Dan I would fcorn to combine.
I know they have many a wicked defign;
And, give Satan his due, Dan begins to refine.
However, I wifh, honeft comrade of mine,
You would really on Thursday leave St. Catharine
Where I hear you are cramm'd every day like
fwine;

With me you'll no more have a ftomach to dine
Nor after your victuals lie fleeping fupine:
So I wish you were toothlefs, like Lord Mafferin
But, were you as wicked as lew'd Arctine,
I wish you would tell me which way you inclin
If, when you return, your road you don't line,
On Thursday I'll pay my refpects at your shrin
Wherever you bend, wherever you twine,
In fquare, or in oppofite circle, or trine.
Your beef will on Thursday be falter than brin
I hope you have fwill'd, with new milk from t
kine,

As much as the Liffee's outdone by the Rhine;
And Dan fhall be with us, with nofe afquiline.
If you do not come back, we fhall weep out
eyne;

Or may your gown never be good Lutherine.
The beef you have got, I hear, is a chine:
But, if too many come, your madam will whin
And then you may kifs the low end of her spine
But enough of this poetry Alexandrine :

I hope you will not think this a pafquine.

A PORTRAIT

FROM THE LIFE.

COME fit by my fide, while this picture I draw:
In chattering a magpie, in pride a jackdaw;
A temper the devil himself could not bridle;
Impertinent mixture of bufy and idle;
As rude as a bear, no mule half fo crabbed;
She fwills like a fow, and the breeds like a rabbi
A housewife in bed, at table a flattern;
For all an example, for no one a pattern.
Now tell me, friend Thomas‡, Ford §, Grattan
and merry Dan ¶,

Has this any likeneis to good madam Sheridan?

i. e. in Dublin.

The feat of Lady Mountcafbel, near Dublin. Dr. Thomas Sheridan.

Charles Ford of Woodpark, Efq.

$ Reverend John Grattan.

¶ Reverend Dani! Jackson.

:

APON STEALING A CROWN, WHEN THE

DEAN WAS ASLEEP.

BY DR. SHERIDAN.

DEAR Dean, fince you in fleepy wife

Have end your mouth and clos'd your eyes;
Lake ghet, I glide along your floor,
And fout the parlour-door:
For, fed I break your fweet repofe,
Wheknows what money you might lose 3,
Since tentimes it has been found,
A dram has given ten thousand pound?
Tha Leep, my friend; dear Dean, fleep on,
And all you get fhall be your own;
Pided you to this agree,
Thall you lofe belongs to me.

THE DEAN's ANSWER.

about twelve at night, the punk

as from the cully when Ke's drunk ; Ners contented with a treat, What her privilege to cheat. Nor can I the leaft difference find, at you left no clap behind.

B je apart, restore, you capon ye,

My twelve thirteens and fix-pence ha'penny.
ear my meat, and drink my medlicot,
then to give me fuch a deadly cut-
tis obferv'd, that men in gowns
not inclin'd to plunder crowns.
d you but change a crown as easy

ou can fteal one, how 'twould pleafe ye!
ght the lady + at St. Catharine's
how to fet you better patterns;

this I will not dine with Agmondifham †, And for his victuals let a ragman difh'em.

THE STORM:

MINERVA'S PETITION.

PAAs, a goddess chaste and wife, Dending lately from the skies,

ptane went, and begg'd in form
give his orders for a form;
Ad, to drown that rafcal Horte,
A he would kindly thank him for't:
Ah! whom English rogues, to fpite her,
Hey benour'd with a mitre,

hegod, who favour'd her request,
And her he would do his best:
B: Vnus had been there before,
Fed the bishop lov'd a whore,
Art had enlarg'd her empire wide;
He can'd no deity befide.

A Larr hand, if e'er you found him
Without a miftrefs, hang or drown him.
Ste Furnet's death, the bishop's bench,

Horte arriv'd, ne'er kept a wench:
He must fink, the grieves to tell it,
Stl not have left one fingle prelate;

* A felling paffeth for thirteen pence in Ireland. Lady Mountcnfbel.

And foam Vefey, Efq. a very worthy gentlefr when the Dean bad a great eficem.

For, to fay truth, fhe did intend him,
Elect of Cyprus in commendam.
And, fince her birth the ocean gave her,
She could not doubt her uncle's favour.

Then Proteus urg'd the fame request, But half in earnest, half in jeft; Said he" Great fovereign of the main, "To drown him all attempts are vain; "Horte can affume more forms than I, "A rake, a bully, pimp, or spy; "Can creep or run, or fly or fwim; "All motions are alike to him: "Turn him adrift, and you fhall find "He knows to fail with every wind; "Or, throw him overboard, he'll ride "As well against as with the tide. "But, Pallas, you've apply'd too late; "For 'tis decreed, by Jove and Fate, "That Ireland must be foon destroy'd, "And who but Horte can be employ'd? "You need not then have been fo pert, "In fending Bolton* to Clonfert. "I found you did it, by your grinning; "Your bufinefs is, to mind your spinning. "But how you came to interpofe "In making bifhaps, no one knows : "Or who regarded your report; "For never were you feen at court. "And if you must have your petition, "There's Berkeley + in the fame condition: "Look, there he ftands, and 'tis but juft, "If one muft drown the other muft;" "But, if you'll leave us bishop Judas, "We'll give you Berkeley for Bermudas. "Now, if 'twill gratify your fpight, "To put him in a plaguy fright, "Although 'tis hardly worth the coft, "You foon fhall fee him foundly toft. "You'll find him fwear, blafpheme, and damn "(And every moment take a dram) "His ghaftly vifage with an air

"Of reprobation and defpair:

"Or elfe fome hiding-hole he feeks,

"For fear the reft fhould fay he squeaks;

"Or, as Fitzpatrick ‡ did before, "Refolve to perifh with his whore; "Or elfe he raves, and roars, and fwears, "And, but for fhame, would fay his prayers, "Or, would you fee his fpirits fink, "Relaxing downwards in a ftink? "If fuch a fight as this can please ye, "Good madam Pallas, pray be easy, "To Neptune fpeak, and he'll confent; "But he'll come back the knave he went." The goddefs, who conceiv'd an hope That Horte was deftin'd to a rope, Believ'd it beft to condefcend To fpare a foe, to fave a friend: But, fearing Berkeley might be fear'd, She left him virtue for a guard.

* Afterwards Archbishop of Cofbell. f Dr. George Berkeley, dean of Derry, and afterwards biflop of Clays e.

Brigadier Fitzpatrick was drowned in one of the packet-boats in the bay of Dublin, in a great form.