Jove peep'd thro' his moons, and examin'd their features, And said, "By my truth, they are wonderful creatures, "The beards are so long that encircle their throats, That (unless they are Welchmen) I swear they are goats: "But now, my dear Juno, pray give me my mittens, (These insects I am going to handle are Britons) I'll draw up their isle with a finger and thumb, As the doctor extracts an old tooth from the gum." Then he raised her aloft-but to shorten our tale, She looked like a clod in the opposite scale 130 A sugar Planter in the interior parts of Jamaica, near the City of San Jago de la Vega, (Spanish Town) 1784. "The motions of his spirit are black as night, And his affections dark as Erebus." -SHAKESPEARE. If there exists a hell-the case is clearSir Toby's slaves enjoy that portion here: Here are no blazing brimstone lakes-'tis true; But kindled Rum too often burns as blue; In which some fiend, whom nature must detest, Steeps Toby's brand, and marks poor Cudjoe's breast. Here whips on whips excite perpetual fears, And mingled howlings vibrate on my ears: No art, no care escapes the busy lash; All have their dues-and all are paid in cash The eternal driver keeps a steady eye On a black herd, who would his vengeance fly, But chained, imprisoned, on a burning soil, For the mean avarice of a tyrant, toil! The lengthy cart-whip guards this monster's reign And cracks, like pistols, from the fields of cane. Ye powers! who formed these wretched tribes, relate, What had they done, to merit such a fate! 20 Why were they brought from Eboe's sultry waste, To see that plenty which they must not taste Food, which they cannot buy, and dare not steal; Yams and potatoes-many a scanty meal! One, with a gibbet wakes his negro's fears, One to the windmill nails him by the ears; One keeps his slave in darkened dens, unfed, One puts the wretch in pickle ere he's dead: This, from a tree suspends him by the thumbs, That, from his table grudges even the crumbs! 30 O'er yond' rough hills a tribe of females go, Each with her gourd, her infant, and her hoe; Scorched by a sun that has no mercy here, Driven by a devil, whom men call over seer 108 THE PROGRESS OF BALLOONS "Perdomita tellus, tumida cesserunt freta, Inferna nostros regna sensere impetus; Immune cælum est, dignus Alcide labor, In alta mundi spatia sublimes feremur." -SENEC. HERC. FURENS. Assist me, ye muses, (whose harps are in tune) To tell of the flight of the gallant balloon! As high as my subject permit me to soar To heights unattempted, unthought of before, Ye grave learned Doctors, whose trade is to sigh, Who labour to chalk out a road to the sky, Improve on your plans-or I'll venture to say, A chymist, of Paris, will show us the way. The earth on its surface has all been survey'd, The sea has been travell'd-and deep in the shade The kingdom of Pluto has heard us work, 10 at When we dig for his metals wherever they lurk. But who would have thought that invention could rise To find out a method to soar to the skies, And pierce the bright regions, which ages assign'd To spirits unbodied, and flights of the mind. Let the gods of Olympus their revels pre pare By the aid of some pounds of inflammable air We'll visit them soon-and forsake this dull ball With coat, shoes and stockings, fat carcase and all! 20 How France is distinguish'd in Louis's reign! What cannot her genius and courage attain? Thro'out the wide world have her arms found the way, And art to the stars is extending her And ye who the heav'n's broad concave survey, And, aided by glasses, its secrets betray, Who gaze, the night through, at the wonderful scene, Yet still are complaining of vapours between, 40 Ah, seize the conveyance and fearlessly rise To peep at the lanthorns that light up the skies, And floating above, on our ocean of air, Inform us, by letter, what people are there. In Saturn, advise us if snow ever melts, And what are the uses of Jupiter's belts; (Mars being willing) pray send us word, greeting, If his people are fonder of fighting than eating. That Venus has horns we've no reason to doubt, (I forget what they call him who first found it out) 50 And you'll find, I'm afraid, if you venture too near, That the spirits of cuckolds inhabit her sphere. Our folks of good morals it wofully grieves, That Mercury's people are villains and thieves, You'll see how it is-but I'll venture to shew For a dozen among them, twelve dozens below. From long observation one proof may be had That the men in the moon are incurably mad; However, compare us, and if they exceed They must be surprizingly crazy indeed. 60 But now, to have done with our planets and moons— Come, grant me a patent for making balloons- For I find that the time is approaching the day |