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 fagot, 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 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. 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 passage.--_W. E. B._] WILL WOOD'S PETITION 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 shine! 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. Come hither and try, I'll teach you to buy A pot of good ale for a farthing; Come, threepence a score, I ask you no more, And a fig for the Drapier and Harding.[1] When tradesmen have gold, The thief will be bold, By day and by night for to rob him: My copper is such, No robber will touch, And so you may daintily bob him.