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 die by a drop: 
So methought he resolved no liquor to taste,
For fear the first drop might as well be his last. 
But dreams are like oracles; ’tis hard to explain ’em;
For it proved that he died of a drop at Kilmainham.[3]
I waked 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 maintain with my life, is heraldry good.

[Footnote 1:  Forge his own bad halfpence.—­Scott.]

[Footnote 2:  He was burnt in effigy.—­Scott.]

[Footnote 3:  The place of execution near Dublin.—­Scott.]

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.