That he and his halfpence should come to weigh

down

Our subjects so 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 'tis against Mr. Wood's;
If you stand true together, he's left in the suds.
Which &c.

Yeshopmen and tradesmen and farmers, go read it, For I think in my soul 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,

BAASIER, TINKER, HARDWAREMAN, COINER, FOUNDER,

AND ESQUIRE.

WHEN foes are o'ercome we preserve them

from slaughter

To be hewers of Wood, and drawers of water.
Now, although to draw water is not very good,
Yet we all should rejoice to be hewers of Wood.
I own, it has often provok'd me to mutter,
That a rogue so abscure should make such a clutter:
But ancient philosophers wisely 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

good:

But

But this idol Wood may do us great evil:
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 stood
(I forget in what church) an image of Wood.
Concerning this image, there went a prediction,
It would burn a whole forest; nor was it a fiction.
'Twas cut into faggots and put to the flame,
To burn an old friar, one Forest by name.
My tale is a wise 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 speech:
And said, "By my shoul, he's the son of a BEECH."
Some call him a thorn, the curse of the nation,
As Thorns were design'd to be from the creation.
Some think him cut out from the poisonous Yew,
Beneath whose ill shade no plant ever grew.
Some say he's a birch, a thought very odd;
For none but a dunce would come under his rod,
But I'll tell the secret; and pray do not blab:
He is an old stump, 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 justly may boast, That none are more properly knights of the Post, I ne'er

I ne'er could endure my talent to smother I told you one tale, and I'll tell you another. A joiner, to fasten a saint in a nitch,

Bor'd a large auger-hole in the image's breech.
But, finding the statue to make no complaint,
He would ne'er be convinc'd it was a true saint.
When the true Wood arrives, as he soon will, no

doubt,

(For that's but a sham Wood they carry about ;*) What stuff he is made of you quickly may find,

If

you make the same 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 shall 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 groaning

board.

Hear one story more, and then I will stop. I dreamt Wood was told he should die by a drop: So methought he resolved no liquor to taste, For fear the first drop might as well be his last. 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 soon to see 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 soft! says the Herald; I cannot agrée; For metal on metal is false heraldry.

* He was frequently burnt in effigy. F.

+ Their place of Execution. F.

Why,

Why, that may be true; yet Wood upon Wood, I'll maintain with my life, is heraldry good.

TO QUILCA,

▲ COUNTRY HOUSE OF DR. SHERIDAN,
IN NO VERY GOOD REPAIR.

LET

1725.

me thy properties explain: A rotten cabin dropping rain :

Chimnies with scorn rejecting smoke;
Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke.
Here elements have lost their uses,
Air ripens not, nor earth produces ;
In vain we make poor Sheelah * toil,
Fire will not roast, nor water boil.
Through all the valleys, hills, and plains,
The goddess Want in triumph reigns:
And her chief officers of state,

Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.

THE BLESSINGS OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 1725. Far from our debtors; no Dublin letters; Nor 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

* The name of an Irish servant. N

Our

Our horses astray; no straw, oats, or hay; December in May; our boys run away; all servants at play..

A PORTRAIT

FROM THE LIFE.

COME sit by my side, 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 so crabbed;
She swills like a sow, and she breeds like a rabbit:
A housewife in bed, at table a slattern;

*

For all an example, for no one a pattern. Now tell me, friend Thomas, Ford, † Grattan, and merry Dan, §

Has this any likeness to good madam Sheridan ?

ON STEALING A CROWN WHEN THE DEAN WAS ASLEEP.

BY DR. SHERIDAN.

DEAR Dean, since you in sleepy wise

Have op'd your mouth, and clos'd your eyes
Like ghost, I glide along your floor,

And softly shut the parlour door:

* Dr. Thos. Sheridan. F. † Charles Ford, of Woodpark, esq. F.