I lately dream'd that, in a huge balloon,
All silk and gold, I journey'd to the Moon,
Where the same objects seem'd to meet my eyes
That I had lately left below the skies;

And judge of my astonishment, on seeing
All things exactly, to a hair, agreeing:
The mountains, rivers, cities, trees, and towers,
On Cynthia's silver surface, seem'd like ours;
Men, women, children, language, dress, and faces,
Lords, Commons, Lackies, Pensioners, and Places,
Whigs, Tories, Lawyers, Priests, and men of blood,
And even Radicals—by all that's good!

In a long street, just such as London's Strand is,
'Midst Belles and Beggars, Pickpockets and Dandies,
Onward I went, between a brazen horse,
And a large Inn which bore a Golden Cross,
Then through a passage, narrow, long and dark,
That brought my footsteps to a spacious park.

It chanc'd that morning that the Sovereign Dey,
The Prince of Lunataria pass'd that way—
Gods! what a sight! what countless crouds were there,
What yells, and groans, and hootings, rent the air!
By which, I learn'd, the Lunatarian nation
Are wont to testify their admiration;
We don't do so on earth—but that's no matter—
The Dey went onward, midst a hideous clatter
To meet the Senators; for'twas appointed,
That, on that morning, He—the Lord's anointed—
Should make a grand Oration from the throne,
That his most royal pleasure might be known.

Respecting certain great affairs of State:—
I heard the speech; Oh! could the muse relate
The "elegance the sweet "distinctiveness"
With which his Royal Deyship did address
That reverend body of Moonarian sages,
I'd write a book that should endure for ages.

Alas! such heights are not for me to reach;
I'll therefore, from my note-book, take the Speech,
And you must say, as'tis by Pope exprest,
"Give all thou canst, and we will dream the rest!"

MY L—rds and G—tl—n,
I grieve to say,
That poor old Dad,
Is just as—bad,
As when I met you here
the other day.

'Tis pity that these cursed State Affairs
Should take you from your pheasants and your hares
Just now:

But lo!

Conspiracy and Treason are abroad!

Those imps of darkness, gender'd in the wombs
Of spinning-jennies, winding-wheels, and looms,

In Lunashire—

Oh, Lord!

My L—ds and G—tl—n, we've much to fear!

Reform, Reform, the swinish rabble cry—
Meaning, of course, rebellion, blood, and riot—
Audacious rascals! you, my Lords, and I,
Know 'tis their duty to be starved in quiet:
But they have grumbling habits, incompatible
With the repose of our august community—
They see that good things are with us come-at-ible,
And therefore slyly watch their opportunity
To get a share;

Yes, they declare
That we are not God's favorites alone—
That they have rights to food, and clothes, and air,
As well as you, the Brilliants of a throne!
Oh! indications foul of revolution—
The villains would destroy the Constitution!

I've given orders for a lot of Letters,
From these seditious, scribbling, scoundrels' betters
N—d—n and N—rr—s, F—ch—r, W—t and H—y
'To lie, for your instruction,'

Upon the table;

From which said premises you'll soon be able
To make a fair deduction,

That some decisive measures must be taken,
Without delay,

To quell the Radicals,

and save our bacon.

And now, my faithful C—m—ns,
You must find

The means to raise the wind:

For Derry Down, and Sid, have thought it wise,
To have—besides the Spies—
A few more Cut-throats, to protect the rhino
Of loyal people,—such as you and I know.

Van's estimates will come before you straight;
And, I foresee
That your opinions will with mine agree,

No lighter weight
Can well be placed on

Who is, you know,

a very willing hack.

The revenue has fluctuated
slightly—

See the Courier—

But it's been found to be

improving nightly—

For two weeks past,—

therefore we've nought to fear.

Some branches of our trade
are still deprest,

And those dependant on them
wanting food,

But that's a sort of

temporary evil—

'Twill wear away:

perhaps'tis for the best
At all events,'twill do no good
To let the starving wretches be uncivil.

Five years ago, you know, our sad condition
Was partly owing to

'the quick transition
From war to peace'—then,

we had 'scanty crops'—
Then, something else—and now—
our weavers' shops
Are full of Radicals,

and Flags, and Caps;
But 'temporary' still

are these mishaps—

The 'quick transition's' gone,

the 'crops' are good,
And though the Radicals
may still want food,

A few

STEEL LOZENGES

will stop their pain,

And set the Constitution
right again.

My L—ds and G—tl—n,

The foreign powers
Write me word frequently that they are ours,

Most truly and sincerely, in compliance
With our most

HOLY COMPACT AND ALLIANCE,

The purposes of which

I need not mention—

You that have brains can guess
at the intention.

'Tis my most anxious wish,
now we're at peace,

That all internal discontents
should cease—

T' accomplish which

I see no better way
Than putting one-eyed pensioners
on full pay.

'The body of the people, I do think,
are loyal still,'

But pray, My L—ds and G—tl—n,
don't shrink
From exercising all your care
and skill,

Here, and at home,

TO CHECK THE CIRCULATION

OF LITTLE BOOKS,

Whose very looks—

Vile 'two-p'nny trash,'

bespeak abomination.

Oh! they are full of blasphemies
and libels,

And people read them

oftener than their bibles.

Go H—df——t, Y—rm—th, C—le—gh, and C—nil—g
Go, and be planning,

Within your virtuous minds, what best will answer
To save our morals from this public cancer;

Go and impress, my friends, upon all classes,
From sleek-fac'd Swindlers down to half-starv'd Asses,
'That, from religious principles alone,'

(Dont be such d——d fools as to blab your own)
Temperance, chasteness, conjugal attention—

With other virtues that I need not mention—

And from subordination, and respect,

To every knave in robes of office deck'd—

'Can they expect to gain divine protection'

And save their sinful bodies from dissection!

His Highness ceased—

The dissonance of Babel
Rose from the motley

Moonitarian rabble:

The yell of loyalty—

the dungeon groan—

The shriek of woe—

the starving infant's moan
The brazen trumpets' note—
the din of war—

The shouts of freemen

rising from afar—

Darted in horrid discord

through my brain:—

I woke, and found myself
on Earth again.