Epigram On Wood'S Brass Money

Carteret was welcomed to the shore First with the brazen cannon's roar; To meet him next the soldier comes, With brazen trumps and brazen drums; Approaching near the town he hears The brazen bells salute his ears: But when Wood's brass began to sound, Guns, trumpets, drums, and bells, were drown'd.

A SIMILE ON OUR WANT OF SILVER, AND THE ONLY WAY TO REMEDY IT. 1725

As when of old some sorceress threw O'er the moon's face a sable hue, To drive unseen her magic chair, At midnight, through the darken'd air; Wise people, who believed with reason That this eclipse was out of season, Affirm'd the moon was sick, and fell To cure her by a counter spell. Ten thousand cymbals now begin, To rend the skies with brazen din; The cymbals' rattling sounds dispel The cloud, and drive the hag to hell. The moon, deliver'd from her pain, Displays her silver face again. Note here, that in the chemic style, The moon is silver all this while. So (if my simile you minded, Which I confess is too long-winded) When late a feminine magician, Join'd with a brazen politician, Exposed, to blind the nation's eyes, A parchment of prodigious size; Conceal'd behind that ample screen, There was no silver to be seen. But to this parchment let the Drapier Oppose his counter-charm of paper, And ring Wood's copper in our ears So loud till all the nation hears; That sound will make the parchment shrivel And drive the conjurors to the Devil; And when the sky is grown serene, Our silver will appear again.