An Excellent New Song, Upon The Declarations Of The Several Corporations Of The City Of Dublin

AGAINST WOOD'S HALFPENCE     To the tune of "London is a fine town," & c.     O Dublin is a fine town         And 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 meet         Of every corporation,     From every lane and every street,         To save the sinking nation.             O Dublin, & c.     The bankers would not let it pass         For 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 coin         The 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 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.