Eat to this parchment let the Drapier
Oppose his counter-charm of paper,
And ring Wood's copper in our cars
So loud till all the nation hears;
That found will make the parchment fhrivel,
And drive the conjurers to the devil:
And, when the fky is grown ferene,
Our filver will appear again.

WOOD AN INSECT. 1725.

By long obfervation I have understood,
That two little vermin are kin to Will Wood.
The firft is an infect they call a wood-louse,
That folds up itself in itself for a house,

As round as a bail, without head, without tail,
Inclos'd p-s-pe in a strong coat of mail.
And thus William Wood to my fancy appears
In fillets of brass roll'd up to his ears:
And over thefe fillets he wifely has thrown,
To keep out of danger, a doublet of stone
The life 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 lick of efftructions, and pains in her cheft.

The next is an infect we call a wood-worm,
That lies in old weed 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,
Because like a watch it always cries click:
Then woe be to those in the house 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.
Eat a kettle of fcalding hot water injected
Lay carts 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 ftatesman or favourite whore : The death of our nation he seem'd to foretell, And the found of his brafs we took for our knell. Battew fince the Drapier hath heartily maul'd him, the best thing we can do is to fcald him. Fr which operation there's nothing more proper Than the liquor he deals in, his own melted copper; Ciefs, 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.

SALMONTUS, 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 royftering fellows
Would fit whole evenings at the alehouse:

He was in goal for debt. ↑ Counterfeit halfpence.

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 brafs two fiery fteeds he fhod,
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 sprawling;
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 scatter'd, we like dolts, Miflook at firft for thunder-bolts; Before the Drapier shot a letter, (Nor Jove himfelf could do it better) Which, lighting on th' impoftor's crown, Like real thunder knock'd him down.

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 lose.

Here's halfpence 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 fudden.

You will be my thankers,
I'll make you my bankers,
As good as Ben Burton or Fade *:
For nothing fhall 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 pass,
I muft die like an afs;
And fo I conclude my petition.

A NEW SONG

ON WOOD'S HALFPENCE.

Ye people of Ireland, both country and city, Come liften with patience, and hear out my ditty: At this time I'll choose to be wifer than witty. Which nobody can deny. The halfpence are coming, the nation's undoing. There's an end of your ploughing, and baking, and brewing:

In short, you must all go to rack and to ruin.

Which, &c. 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 must 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 soon 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 nose.
Which, &c.

Two famous bankers.

The butcher is flout, and he values no fwagger;
A cleaver's a match any time for a dagger,
And a blue fleeve may give fuch a cuff as ma
stagger.
Which, &

The beggars themselves will be broke in a trice, When thus their poor farthings are funk in the price;

When nothing is left, they must live on their lic Which, &

The fquire poffefs'd of twelve thousand a year, O Lord! what a mountain his rents would appear Should he take them, he would not have houf room, I fear.

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, &c.

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 Majefty's kind.

Wbicb, &c.

WHEN foes are o'ercome, we preferve them from flaughter,

To be bewers of wood, and drawers of water. Now, although to draw water is not very good; Yet we all fhould rejoice to be bewers of Wood. I own, it has often provok'd me to mutter, That a rogue fo obfcure fhould make fuch a clutter: But ancient Philofophers wifely remark, That old rotten Wood will shine 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 Wood brings money good store, Our money to keep, let us cut down one more.

Now hear an old tale. There anciently flood (I 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, To burn an old Friar, one Foreft by name. My tale is a wife one, if well understood: Find you but the Friar; and I'll find the Wood.

I hear, 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 fpeech;
And faid, By my fboul, be's the fon of a BEECH.
Some call him a Thorn, the curfe of the nation,
As Thorns were defign'd to be from the creation.
Some think him cut out from the poisonous Yew,
Beneath whofe ill fhade no plant ever grew.
Some fay he's a Birch, a thought very odd;

For one but a dunce would come under his rod.
But I tell you the secret; but pray do not blab;
He is an old ftump cut out of a Crab;
And England has put this Crab to a hard use,
To cudgel our bones, and for drink give us verjuice;
And therefore his witnesses juftly may boast,
That none are more properly knights of the Poft.
I ne'er could endure my talent to fmother;
I told you one tale, and I'll tell you another.
A joiner, to faften a faint in a nitch,

Bor'd a large auger-bole in the image's breech;
But, finding the flatue to make no complaint,
He would ne'er be convinc'd it was a true faint.
When the true Wood arrives, as he foon will, no doubt,
(For that's but a fham Wood they carry about *)
What fluff he is made of you quickly may find,
If you make the fame trial, and bore him behind.
I'll hold you a groat, when you wimble his bum,
He'll bellow as loud as the Devil in a drum.
From 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 fhow him about for a new groaning-board.
Hear one flory more, and then I will stop.

I dreamt Wood was told he should die by a drop;

He was frequently burnt in effigy. VOL. IX.

So methought he refolved no liquor to taste,
For fear the first drop might as well be his laft.
But dreams are like oracles; 'tis hard to explain 'em;
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 should 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 Englifh, 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 stop 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 say, 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. Sheri

dan 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. Commor.

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

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

I P. S.

I wish, when you prated, your letter you'd dated:
Much plague it created. I fcolded and rated;
My foul is much grated; for your man I long waited.
I think you are fated, like a bear to be baited:
Your man is belated; the cafe I have ftated;
And me you have cheated. My ftable's unflated.
Come back t' us well freighted.

I remember my late head; and wish you tranflated,
For teazing me.

*Their place of execution.

↑ This is probably dated too early. Mrs. Dingley and Mrs. Johnfon.

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 fend one verse. 3 P. S.

You keep fuch a twattling with you and your bottling;

But I fee the fum total, we shall ne'er have a bottle;
The long and the fhort, we fhall 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 thimblé.
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 smoke;
Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke.
Here elements have loft their uses,
Air ripens not, nor earth produces;
In vain we make poor Sheelah 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 seen by our betters.

THE PLAGUES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.
A COMPANION with news; a great want of shoes;
Eat lean meat, or choose; a church without pews.
Our horses aftray; no straw, 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 extinguish my poetic vein;

And then I fhould be as ftupid as Kain.
Who preach'd on three heads, though he men-
tion'd but twain.

The name of an Irifb fervant.

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

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

DR. SWIFT's ANSWER.

THE verses 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 Muses all nine.
I nicely examin'd them every line, [fhine.
And the worst of them all like a barn-door did
Oh, that Jove would give me fuch a talent as
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 wish, honeft comrade of mine,
You would really on Thursday leave St. Catharinet,
Where I hear you are cramm'd every day like a

fwine;

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

kine,

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 busy and idle;
As rude as a bear, no mule half fo crabbed;
She fwills like a fow, and the breeds like a rabbit:
A housewife in bed, at table a flattern;
For all an example, for no one a pattern.
Now tell me, friend Thomas t, Ford §, Grattan
and merry Dan ¶,

Has this any likeness to good madam Sheridan ?

IFON STEALING A CROWN, WHEN THE

DEAN WAS ASLEEP.

BY DR. SHERIDAN.

DEAR Dean, fince you in fleepy wife
Have op'd your mouth and clos'd your eyes;
Like ghoft, I glide along your floor,
And foftly fhut the parlour-door :
For, fhould I break your fweet repofe,
Who knows what money you might lofe;
Since oftentimes it has been found,
A dream has given ten thousand pound?
Then fleep, my friend; dear Dean, fleep on,
And all you get shall be your own;
Provided you to this agree,
That all you lose belongs to me.

THE DEAN's ANSWER.

about twelve at night, the punk Steal from the cully when he's drunk ; Nor is contented with a treat,

Without her privilege to cheat. Nor can I the leaft difference find, But that you left no clap behind. But, jeft apart, reftore, you capon ye, My twelve thirteens and fix-pence ha'penny. To eat my meat, and drink my medlicot, And then to give me fuch a deadly cutBat 'tis obferv'd, that men in gowns Are mot inclin'd to plunder crowns. Could you but change a crown as eafy As you can fteal one, how 'twould please ye! I thought the lady at St. Catharine's Knew how to fet you better patterns; For this I will not dine with Agmondifham †, And for his victuals let a ragman dish'em.

THE STORM:

MINERVA'S PETITION.

PALLAS, goddefs chafte and wife, Defending lately from the skies, To Neptune went, and begg'd in form He'd give his orders for a form; A form, to drown that rafcal Horte, And he would kindly thank him for't: A wretch! whom English rogues, to spite hcr, Had lately honour'd with a mitre, The god, who favour'd her request, Afr'd her he would do his best: But Venus had been there before, Faded the bishop lov'd a whore, Ad had enlarg'd her empire wide; Hesan'd no deity befide. At fea or land, if e'er you found him Without a miftrefs, hang or drown him. Since Burnet's death, the bishop's bench, Tl Horte arriv'd, ne'er kept a wench: If Horte mult fink, fhe grieves to tell it, She'll not have left one fingle prelate ;

.

A filling palletb for thirteen pence in Ireland. + Lady Mountcafbel. Armondifoam Vefey, Efq. a very worthy gentlefor bum the Dean bad a great eflcem.

1

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 shall 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 so 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 bifhops, 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 damin "(And every moment take a dram) "His ghaftly vifage with an air

"Of reprobation and despair: "Or elfe fome hiding-hole he feeks, "For fear the reft should say he squeaks; "Or, as Fitzpatrick + did before, "Refolve to perifh with his whore; "Or else 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 stink? "If fuch a fight as this can please ye, "Good madam Pallas, pray be eafy, "To Neptune fpeak, and he'll confent; "But he'll come back the knave he went."

The goddess, 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 scar'd, She left him virtue for a guard.

Afterwards Archbishop of Caftell.

t Dr. George Berkeley, dean of Derry, and after wards bifcop of Cloyre.

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