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w the noble clothiers Of honour and renown, If they take Wood's halfpence They 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 scheme Would soon be brought to light. O Dublin, &c. And that if Wood were now withstood, To his eternal scandal, That twenty of these halfpence should Not 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 truck And 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 here We'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 bad It would not mend a kettle. O Dublin, &c. The carpenters and joiners stood Confounded 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 it In 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. VERSES ON THE UPRIGHT JUDGE, WHO CONDEMNED THE DRAPIER'S PRINTER The church I hate, and have good reason, For there my grandsire cut his weasand: He cut his weasand at the altar; I keep my gullet for the halter. ON THE SAME In church your grandsire cut his throat; To do the job too long he tarried: He should have had my hearty vote To cut his throat before he married. ON THE SAME THE JUDGE SPEAKS I'm not the grandson of that ass Quin;[1] Nor can you prove it, Mr. Pasquin. My grandame had gallants by twenties, And bore my mother by a 'prentice. This when my grandsire knew, they tell us he In Christ-Church cut his throat for jealousy. And, since the alderman was mad you say, Then I must be so too, _ex traduce_. [Footnote 1: Alder
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