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Which lighting on th' Impostor's Crown,
Like real Thunder knock'd him down.

WOOD, an INSECT.

Written in the Year 1725.

B В

Y long Observation I have understood,

That three 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, Inclos'd Cap-a-pee in a strong Coat of Mail. And thus William Wood to my Fancy appears In Fillets of Brass roll'd up to his Ears: And, over these Fillets he wisely has thrown, To keep out of Danger, * a Doublet of Stone.

The Louse of the Wood for a Med'cine is us’d, Or swallow'd alive, or skilfully bruis’d, And, let but our Mother Hibernia contriye To swallow Will.Wood either bruis'd or alive. She need be no more with the Jaundice posseft, Or fick of Obstructions, and Pains in her Cheft.

The third is an Infect we call a Wood-Worm, That lies in old Wood like a Hare in her Form :

With

* He was in Jayl for Debt.

With Teeth or with Claws it will bite or will scratch,
And Chamber-maids chriften 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 Poft.
But a Kettle of scalding hot Water injected,
Infallibly cures the Timber affected ;
The Omen is broke, the Danger is over ;
The Maggot will dye, and the Sick will recover.
Such a Worm was Will. Wood when he scratch'd at

the Door
Of a governing Statesman, or favourite Whore:
The Death of our Nation it seem'd to foretell,
And the Sound of his Brass we took for our Knell,
But now fince the Drapier hath heartily mauld him,
I think the best Thing we can do is to scald him.
For which Operation there's nothing more proper
Thap the Liquor he deals in, his own inelted Copper:
Unless, like the Dutch, you rather would boyl
This Coyner of * Raps in a Cauldron of Oyl.
Then chuse which you please, and let each bring a

Faggot,
For our Fear's at an End with the Death of the

Maggot.

* A cant Word in Ireland, for a counterfeit Half-penny.

th

JIORACE,

HORACE, Book I. Ode XIV.

O navis, referent, &c.

Paraphrased and inscribed to IRELAND.

Written in the Year 1726.

The INSCRIPTION.
Poor floating Isle, tost on ill Fortune's Waves,
Ordain'd by Fatę to tạe Land of Slaves :
Sball moving Delos now deep-rooted fand,
Thou, fixt of old, be now the moving Land?
Alibo' the Metaphor be worn and

stale,
Betwixt a State, and Vessel under Sail ;
Let me suppose thee for á Ship a wbile,
And thus address thee in the Sailor Stile.

, New Waves shall drive thee to the Deep

again; Look to thy self, and be no more the Sport ? Of giddy Winds, but make some friendly Port.

Loft

1. O navis, referent in mare te novi

Fluctus. 2.

Portum.

Fortiter occupa

3

Lost are thy Oars that us'd thy Course to guide,

Like faithful Counsellors on either Side.
4 Thy Maft, which like some aged Patriot stood

The single Pillar for his country's Good,
To lead thee, as a Staff directs the Blind,

Behold, it cracks by yon rough Eastern Wind. 5 Your Cables burst, and you must quickly feel

The Waves impetuous entering at your Keel.
Thus, Common-wealths receive a foreign Yoke,

When the strong. Cords of Union once are broke, 6 Torn by a sudden Tempest is thy Sail, Expanded to invite a milder Gale.

As when some Writer in a publick Cause,
His Pen to save a sinking Nation draws,
While all is calm, his Arguments prevail,
The People's Voice expand his Paper Sail ;
'Till Power discharging all her stormy Bags,
Flutters the feeble Pamphlet into Rags.
The Nation scar'd, the Author doom'd to Death,
Who fondly put his Trust in pop'lar Breath.

A LARGER Sacrifice in vain you vow:
7 There's not a Pow'r above will help you now:

A Nation thus, who oft Heav'n's Call neglects,
In vain from injur'd Heav'n Relief expects.

'TWILL
3. Nudum remigio latus.
4.

Malus celeri faucius Africo.
5.

Ac fine funibus
Vix durare carinæ
Possint imperiosius

Æquor ?
6. Non tibi sunt integra lintea.
7. Non Dii, quos iterum pressa voces malo.

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*8 'Twill not avail, when thy strong Sides are

broke, That thy Descent is from the British Oak: Or when your Name and Family you boast, From Fleets triumphant o'er the Gallick Coast. Such was Ierne's Claim, as just as thine, Her Sons descended from the British Line ; Her matchless Sons; whose Valour still remains On French Records, for Twenty long Campaigns: Yet from an Empress now a Captive grown, She sav'd Britannia's Rights, and lost her own. 9 In Ships decay'd no Mariner confides, Lur'd by the gilded Stern, and painted Sides. Yet, at a Ball, unthinking Fools delight In the gay Trappings of a Birth-Day Night : They on the Gold Brocades and Satins rav'd,

And quite forgot their Country was enslavid, 10 Dear Vessel, still be to thy Steerage just,

Nor change thy Course with every fudden Gust;
Like supple Patriots of the modern Sort,
Who turn with ev'ry Gale that blows from Court,

WEAR Y and Sea-sick when in thee confin’d,
Now, for thy Safety, Cares distract

my
Mind.

As

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8. Quamvis Pontica pinus,

Sylvæ filia nobilis. 9. Nil pictis timidus navita puppibus : 10. Fidit tu, nisi ventis

Debes ludibrium cave.
1. Nuper follicitum quæ mihi tædium ;

Nunc defiderium, curáque non levis,
Interfusa nitentes
Vites æquora Cycladas.

...

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