Volume Ii Part 32 (2/2)

[Footnote 3: The patent for coining halfpence.]

WOOD AN INSECT. 1725

By long observation I have understood, That two little vermin are kin to Will Wood.

The first is an insect they call a wood-louse, That folds up itself in itself for a house, As round as a ball, without head, without tail, Enclosed _cap a pie_, in a strong coat of mail.

And thus William Wood to my fancy appears In fillets of bra.s.s roll'd up to his ears; And over these fillets he wisely has thrown, To keep out of danger, a doublet of stone.[1]

The louse of the wood for a medicine is used Or swallow'd alive, or skilfully bruised.

And, let but our mother Hibernia contrive To swallow Will Wood, either bruised 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 wh.o.r.e; The death of our nation he seem'd to foretell, And the sound of his bra.s.s 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[2] in a caldron of oil.

Then choose which you please, and let each bring a f.a.got, For our fear's at an end with the death of the maggot.

[Footnote 1: He was in jail for debt.]

[Footnote 2: Counterfeit halfpence.]

ON WOOD THE IRONMONGER. 1725

Salmoneus,[1] 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 To ape the thunder of the skies: With bra.s.s two fiery steeds he shod, To make a clattering as they trod, Of polish'd bra.s.s 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 bra.s.s for thunder.

The moral of this tale is proper, Applied to Wood's adulterate copper: Which, as he scatter'd, we, like dolts, Mistook at first for thunderbolts, Before the Drapier shot a letter, (Nor Jove himself could do it better) Which lighting on the impostor's crown, Like real thunder knock'd him down.

[Footnote 1: Who imitated lightning with burning torches and was hurled into Tartarus by a thunderbolt from Jupiter.--Hyginus, ”Fab.”

”Vidi et crudelis dantem Salmonea poenas Dum flammas louis et sonitus imitatur Olympi.”

VIRG., _Aen_., vi, 585.

And see the Excursus of Heyne on the pa.s.sage.--_W. E. B._]

WILL WOOD'S PEt.i.tION TO THE PEOPLE OF IRELAND

BEING AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG, SUPPOSED TO BE MADE, AND SUNG IN THE STREETS OF DUBLIN, BY WILLIAM WOOD, IRONMONGER AND HALFPENNY-MONGER. 1725

My dear Irish folks, Come leave off your jokes, And buy up my halfpence so fine; So fair and so bright They'll give you delight; Observe how they glisten and s.h.i.+ne!

They'll sell 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 toss on the knife.

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