Classic Poem

Salmoneus, as the Grecian tale is,
Was a mad coppersmith of Elis:
Up at his forge by morning-peep,
No creature in the lane could sleep.
Among a crew of roistering fellows
Would sit whole evenings at the ale-house:
His wife and children wanted bread,
While he went always drunk to bed.
This vapouring scab must needs devise
To ape the thunder of the skies;
With brass two fiery steeds he shod,
To make a clattering as they trod.
Of polished brass, his flaming car,
Like lightning dazzled from afar:
And up he mounts into the box,
And he must thunder, with a pox.
Then, furious he begins his march;
Drives rattling o'er a brazen arch:
With squibs and crackers armed, to throw
Among the trembling crowds below.
All ran to prayers, both priests and laity,
To pacify this angry deity;
When Jove, in pity to the town,
With real thunder knocked him down.
Then what a huge delight were all in,
To see the wicked varlet sprawling;
They searched his pockets on the place,
And found his copper all was base;
They laughed at such an Irish blunder,
To take the noise of brass for thunder!

The moral of this tale is proper,
Applied to Wood's adulterate copper;
Which, as he scattered, we like dolts,
Mistook at first for thunderbolts;
Before the Drapier shot a letter,
(Not Jove himself could do it better)
Which lighting on the impostor's crown,
Like real thunder knocked him down.