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 Rejoyce to be Hewers of Wood.

I own it hath often provok'd me to Mutter,

That, a Rogue so Obscure should make such a Clutter,

But antient 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 Store,

Our Money to keep, let us Cut down One more.

 

Now hear an old Tale. There antiently 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 Faggots, and put to the Flame,

To burn an old Fryer, one Forrest[sic] by Name.

My Tale is a wise one if well understood,

Find you but the Fryer, 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 a 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 you 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 Verjuice;

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 Block-head, he is no real Block.

He can Eat, Drink and Sleep; now and then for a Friend

He'll not be too proud of an old Kettle to mend;

He can Lye 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 Ha'pence.

Then in Spight of your Sophistry; Honest Will. Wood

Is a Man of this World all true Flesh and Blood;

So you are but in Jest, and you will not I hope

Un-man the poor Knave for take of a Trope.

'Tis a Metaphor known to ev'ry 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 known

More Heathenish Times than those of our own;

Perhaps you will say, 'tis the Devil that puts

The Words in Wood's Mouth, or speaks from his Guts:

And then your old Argument still will return:

Howe'er let us try him and see how he'll burn.

You'll pardon me Sir, your Cunning I smoak,

But Wood I assure you is no Heart of Oak;

And instead of the Devil, this Son of Perdition

Hath joyn'd with himself two Hags in Commission.

 

I ne'er could endure my Talent to smother,

I told you one Tale, I will tell you another.

A Joyner to fasten a Saint in a Nitch,

Bor'd a large Augre-hole in the Image's Breech;

But finding the Statue to make no Complaint,

He would ne'er be convinc'd 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 on you quickly may find,

If you make the same Tryal, and Bore him Behind;

I'll hold you a Groat, when you wimble his Bumm,

He'll Bellow as loud as the Dee'l in a Drum:

From me I declare you shall have no Denial,

And there can be no Harm in making a Tryal;

And when to the Joy of your Hearts he has Roar'd,

You may shew him about for a new Groaning Board.

 

Now ask me a Question. How came it to pass

Wood 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 it's 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 contrive

On the Scene of this Land very soon to revive.

First, Love in a Tub: Squire Wood has in Store

Strong 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 shew 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 Criticks find Fault with the Phrase,

I hope you will own it is Love in a Maze;

For when to express a Friend's Love we 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 Dye by a Drop

So methought, he resolv'd no Liquor to taste,

For fear the First Drop might as well be his Last:

But Dreams are like Oracles, hard to explain 'em,

For it prov'd that he dy'd of a Drop at Killmainham:

I wak'd 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 mantain with my Life, is Heraldry good.