A New Song on Wood's Halfpence

Ye people of Ireland, both country and city,Come listen with patience, and hear out my ditty:At this time I'll choose to be wiser 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 wreck and to ruin.Which, &c.

Both high men and low men, and thick men and tall men,And rich men and poor men, and free men and thrall men,Will suffer; and this man, and that man, and all men.Which, &c.

The soldier is ruin'd, poor man! by his pay;His fivepence will prove but a farthing a-day,For meat, or for drink; or he must run away.Which, &c.

When he pulls out his twopence, the tapster says not,That ten times as much he must pay for his shot;And thus the poor soldier must soon go to pot.Which, &c.

If he goes to the baker, the baker will huff,And twentypence have for a twopenny loaf,Then dog, rogue, and rascal, and so kick and cuff.Which, &c.

Again, to the market whenever he goes,The butcher and soldier must be mortal foes,One cuts off an ear, and the other a nose.Which, &c.

The butcher is stout, and he values no swagger;A cleaver's a match any time for a dagger,And a blue sleeve may give such a cuff as may stagger.Which, &c.

The beggars themselves will be broke in a trice,When thus their poor farthings are sunk in their price;When nothing is left they must live on their lice.Which, &c.

The squire who has got him twelve thousand a-year,O Lord! what a mountain his rents would appear!Should he take them, he would not have house-room, I fear.Which, &c.

Though at present he lives in a very large house,There would then not be room in it left for a mouse;But the squire is too wise, he will not take a souse.Which, &c.

The farmer who comes with his rent in this cash,For taking these counters and being so rash,Will be kick'd out of doors, both himself and his trash.Which, &c.

For, in all the leases that ever we hold,We must pay our rent in good silver and gold,And not in brass tokens of such a base mould.Which, &c.

The wisest of lawyers all swear, they will warrantNo money but silver and gold can be current;And, since they will swear it, we all may be sure on't.Which, &c.

And I think, after all, it would be very strange,To give current money for base 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 Majesty's kind.Which, &c.

Now God bless the Drapier who open'd our eyes!I'm sure, by his book, that the writer is wise:He shows us the cheat, from the end to the rise.Which, &c.

Nay, farther, he shows it a very hard case,That this fellow Wood, of a very bad race,Should of all the fine gentry of Ireland take place.Which, &c.

That he and his halfpence should come to weigh downOur 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.

Ye shopmen, 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.

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 provoked me to mutter,That a rogue so obscure 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 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 storeOur 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 fagots 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 ver-juice;And therefore his witnesses justly may boast,That none are more properly knights of the post,But here Mr. Wood complains that we mock,Though he may be a blockhead, he's no real block.He can eat, drink, and sleep; now and then for a friendHe'll not be too proud an old kettle to mend;He can lie like a courtier, and think it no scorn,When gold’s to be got, to forswear and suborn.He can rap his own raps and has the true sapience,To turn a good penny to twenty bad halfpence.Then in spite of your sophistry, honest Will WoodIs a man of this world, all true flesh and blood;So you are but in jest, and you will not, I hope,Unman the poor knave for the sake of a trope.'Tis a metaphor known to every plain thinker,Just as when we say, the devil's a tinker,Which cannot, in literal sense be made good,Unless by the devil we mean Mr. Wood.But some will object that the devil oft spoke,In heathenish times, from the trunk of an oak;And since we must grant there never were knownMore heathenish times, than those of our own;Perhaps you will say, 'tis the devil that putsThe words in Wood's mouth, or speaks from his guts:And then your old arguments still will return;Howe'er, let us try him, and see how he'll burn:You'll pardon me, sir, your cunning I smoke,But Wood, I assure you, is no heart of oak;And, instead of the devil, this son of perditionHath join'd with himself two hags in commission.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 niche,Bored a large auger-hole in the image's breech;But, finding the statue to make no complaint,He would ne'er be convinced 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 findIf 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 de'il 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.Now ask me a question. How came it to passWood got so much copper? He got it by brass;This brass was a dragon, (observe what I tell ye,)This dragon had gotten two sows in his belly;I know you will say this is all heathen Greek.I own it, and therefore I leave you to seek.I often have seen two plays very good,Call'd Love in a Tub, and Love in a Wood;These comedies twain friend Wood will contriveOn the scene of this land very soon to revive.First, Love in a Tub: Squire Wood has in storeStrong tubs for his raps, two thousand and more;These raps he will honestly dig out with shovels,And sell them for gold, or he can't show his love else.Wood swears he will do it for Ireland's good,Then can you deny it is Love in a Wood?However, if critics find fault with the phrase,I hope you will own it is Love in a Maze:For when to express a friend's love you are willing,We never say more than your love is a million;But with honest Wood's love there is no contending,'Tis fifty round millions of love and a mending.Then in his first love why should he be crost?I hope he will find that no love is lost.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 proved that he died of a drop at Kilmainham.I waked 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 agree;For metal on metal is false heraldry.Why that may be true; yet Wood upon Wood,I'll maintain with my life, is heraldry good.

O Dublin is a fine townAnd a gallant city,For Wood's trash is tumbled down,Come listen to my ditty,O Dublin is a fine town, &c.

In full assembly all did meetOf every corporation,From every lane and every street,To save the sinking nation.O Dublin, &c.

The bankers would not let it passFor to be Wood's tellers,Instead of gold to count his brass,And fill their small-beer cellars.O Dublin, &c.

And next to them, to take his coinThe Gild would not submit,They all did go, and all did join,And so their names they writ.O Dublin, &c.

The brewers met within their hall,And spoke in lofty strains,These halfpence shall not pass at all,They want so many grains.O Dublin, &c.

The tailors came upon this pinch,And wish'd the dog in hell,Should we give this same Wood an inch,We know he'd take an ell.O Dublin, &c.

But now the noble clothiersOf honour and renown,If they take Wood's halfpenceThey will be all cast down.O Dublin, &c.

The shoemakers came on the next,And said they would much rather,Than be by Wood's copper vext,Take money stampt on leather.O Dublin, &c.

The chandlers next in order came,And what they said was right,They hoped the rogue that laid the schemeWould soon be brought to light.O Dublin, &c.

And that if Wood were now withstood,To his eternal scandal,That twenty of these halfpence shouldNot buy a farthing candle.O Dublin, &c.

The butchers then, those men so brave,Spoke thus, and with a frown;Should Wood, that cunning scoundrel knave,Come here, we'd knock him down.O Dublin, &c.

For any rogue that comes to truckAnd trick away our trade,Deserves not only to be stuck,But also to be flay'd.O Dublin, &c.

The bakers in a ferment were,And wisely shook their head;Should these brass tokens once come hereWe'd all have lost our bread.O Dublin, &c.

It set the very tinkers mad,The baseness of the metal,Because, they said, it was so badIt would not mend a kettle.O Dublin, &c.

The carpenters and joiners stoodConfounded in a maze,They seem'd to be all in a wood,And so they went their ways.O Dublin, &c.

This coin how well could we employ itIn raising of a statue,To those brave men that would destroy it,And then, old Wood, have at you.O Dublin, &c.

God prosper long our tradesmen then,And so he will I hope,May they be still such honest men,When Wood has got a rope.O Dublin is a fine town, &c.