The soldier is ruin’d, poor man! by his pay;
His fivepence will prove but a farthing a-day,
For meat, or for drink; or he must run away. 
          Which, &c.

When he pulls out his twopence, the tapster says not,
That ten times as much he must pay for his shot;
And thus the poor soldier must soon go to pot. 
          Which, &c.

If he goes to the baker, the baker will huff,
And twentypence have for a twopenny loaf,
Then dog, rogue, and rascal, and so kick and cuff. 
          Which, &c.

Again, to the market whenever he goes,
The butcher and soldier must be mortal foes,
One cuts off an ear, and the other a nose. 
          Which, &c.

The butcher is stout, and he values no swagger;
A cleaver’s a match any time for a dagger,
And a blue sleeve may give such a cuff as may stagger. 
          Which, &c.

The beggars themselves will be broke in a trice,
When thus their poor farthings are sunk in their price;
When nothing is left they must live on their lice. 
          Which, &c.

The squire who has got him twelve thousand a-year,
O Lord! what a mountain his rents would appear! 
Should he take them, he would not have house-room, I fear. 
          Which, &c.

Though at present he lives in a very large house,
There would then not be room in it left for a mouse;
But the squire is too wise, he will not take a souse. 
          Which, &c.

The farmer who comes with his rent in this cash,
For taking these counters and being so rash,
Will be kick’d out of doors, both himself and his trash. 
          Which, &c.

For, in all the leases that ever we hold,
We must pay our rent in good silver and gold,
And not in brass tokens of such a base mould. 
          Which, &c.

The wisest of lawyers all swear, they will warrant
No money but silver and gold can be current;
And, since they will swear it, we all may be sure on’t. 
          Which, &c.

And I think, after all, it would be very strange,
To give current money for base in exchange,
Like a fine lady swapping her moles for the mange. 
          Which, &c.

But read the king’s patent, and there you will find,
That no man need take them, but who has a mind,
For which we must say that his Majesty’s kind. 
          Which, &c.

Now God bless the Drapier who open’d our eyes! 
I’m sure, by his book, that the writer is wise: 
He shows us the cheat, from the end to the rise. 
          Which, &c.

Nay, farther, he shows it a very hard case,
That this fellow Wood, of a very bad race,
Should of all the fine gentry of Ireland take place. 
          Which, &c.

That he and his halfpence should come to weigh down
Our subjects so loyal and true to the crown: 
But I hope, after all, that they will be his own. 
          Which, &c.