The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 33

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.

The little blackguard Who gets very hard His halfpence for cleaning your shoes: When his pockets are cramm'd With mine, and be d--d, He may swear he has nothing to lose.

Here's halfpence in plenty, For one you'll have twenty, Though thousands are not worth a pudden.

Your neighbours will think, When your pocket cries c.h.i.n.k.

You are grown plaguy rich on a sudden.

You will be my thankers, I'll make you my bankers, As good as Ben Burton or Fade;[2]

For nothing shall pa.s.s But my pretty bra.s.s, And then you'll be all of a trade.

I'm a son of a wh.o.r.e If I have a word more To say in this wretched condition.

If my coin will not pa.s.s, I must die like an a.s.s; And so I conclude my pet.i.tion.

[Footnote 1: The Drapier's printer.]

[Footnote 2: Two famous bankers.]

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 n.o.body 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 bra.s.s tokens of such a base mould.

Which, &c.

The wisest of lawyers all swear, they will warrant No 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 G.o.d 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 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.

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 n.o.body can deny.

A SERIOUS POEM UPON WILLIAM WOOD, BRAZIER, TINKER, HARD-WAREMAN, 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 provoked me to mutter, That a rogue so obscure should make such a clutter; But ancient philosophers wisely remark, That old rotten wood will s.h.i.+ne in the dark.