The louse of the wood for a medicine is us'd,
Or swallow'd alive, or skilfully bruis'd.
And, let but our mother Hibernia contrive
To swallow Will Wood, either bruis'd or alive,
She need be no more with the jaundice possest,
Or sick of obstructions, and pains in her chest.
The next is an insect 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 sick: 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 die, and the sick 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 seem'd to foretell, And the sound of his brass we took for our knell. But now, since the Drapier has 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 would boil This coiner of raps* in a cauldron of oil.

*Counterfeit halfpence. F...
BB 2

Then

Then choose which you please, and let each bring a faggot,

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

maggot.

PROMETHEUS.

ON WOOD THE PATENTEE'S IRISH HALFPENCE

1724.

I.

As when the squire and tinker Wood,
Gravely consulting Ireland's good,
Together mingled in a mass

Smith's dust, and copper, lead, and brass;
The mixture thus by chymic art

United close in ev'ry part,

In fillets roll'd, or cut in pieces,
Appear'd like one continued species;
And, by the forming engine struck,
On all the same impression stuck.

So, to confound this hated coin,
All parties and religions join;
Whigs, tories, trimmers, Hanoverians,
Quakers, conformists, presbyterians,
Scotch, Irish, English, French unite,
With equal int'rest, equal spite;
Together mingled in a lump,
Do all in one opinion jump;

* See an account of Wood's project in the Drapier's Letters. N.

And

And ev'ry one begins to find
The same impression on his mind.

A strange event! whom gold incites
To blood and quarrels, brass unites :
So goldsmiths say, the coarsest stuff
Will serve for solder well enough:
So by the kettle's loud alarm
The bees are gather'd to a swarm:
So by the brazen trumpet's bluster
Troops of all tongues and nations muster:
And so the harp of Ireland brings
Whole crowds about its brazen strings,

II.

There is a chain let down from Jove,
But fasten'd to his throne above,
So strong that from the lower end,
They say, all human things depend.
This chain, as ancient poets hold,
When Jove was young, was made of gold,
Prometheus once this chain purloin'd,
Dissolv'd, and into money coin'd;
Then whips me on a chain of brass:
(Venus was bribed to let it pass.)

Now while this brazen chain prevail'd,
Jove saw that all devotion fail'd;
No temple to his godship raised;
No sacrifice at altars blazed;

In short, such dire confusion follow'd,
Earth must have been in chaos swallow'd.
Jove stood amaz'd; but looking round,
With much ado the cheat he found;

* A great lady was said to have been bribed by Wood. N.

Twas plain he could no longer hold.
The world in any chain but gold;
And to the god of wealth, his brother,
Sent Mercury to get another.

Prometheus on a rock is laid,
Tied with a chain himself had made,
On icy Caucasus to shiver,

While vultures eat his growing liver.

III.

Ye pow'rs of Grub-street, make me able
Discreetly to apply this fable;
Say, who is to be understood

By that old thief Prometheus? Wood.
For Jove, it is not hard to guess him;
I mean his majesty, God bless him.
This thief and blacksmith was so bold,
He strove to steal that chain of gold,
Which links the subject to the king,
And change it for a brazen string.
But sure, if nothing else must pass
Between the king and us but brass,
Although the chain will never crack,
Yet our devotion may grow slack.

But Jove will soon convert, I hope,
This brazen chain into a rope;
With which Prometheus shall be tied,
And high in air for ever ride;
Where, if we find his liver grows,
For want of vultures, we have crows.

ON

ON WOOD THE IRONMONGER.

1725.

SALMONEUS, as the Grecian tale is,
Was a mad coppersmith of Elis :
Up at his forge by morning peep,
No creature in the lane could sleep;
Among a crew of roystering fellows
Would sit whole evenings at the alehouse:
His wife and children wanted bread,
While he went always drunk to bed.
This vapouring scab must needs devise
Το аре the thunder of the skies:
With brass two fiery steeds he shod
To make a clattering 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 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 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.