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THE AIR BALLOON, or FLYING MORTAL. A POEM.
^[[1784]]
To be had at Mr. Macklew's, in the Hay-market, and at all the other Pamphlet Shops in London.
Shall Albion's Sons for Fame, for Arts, renown'd,
Consent to crawl like reptiles on the ground?
Nor from this globe, this spot, assay to rife,
Whilst France and Italy ascend the Skies!
Rouse! Britons Rouse! and emulous of name,
In every Stary Realm, assert your Claim.
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[[start page]]
A SCOTS POEM on the AIR BALLOON.
By Colonel ERSKINE.
[[^1785]]
SWEET keep us a' [fine] what's no right,
Free witchcraft arts or warlocks wight;
For folks are now goin' out o' right
Abon the yird;
Up gets the Gilpins wi' a flight
Like only bird.

[Sic faidies?] ne'er were seen before
'Mang a' the pauky carls o'yore,
Tho' they had [??] mony a score,
Ye[eel] wot I
They ne'er fan' out the gate to bore
Up thro' the sky.

But spite o' a' their weel told wordies,
Tho' fonk had wings upon their girdies,
Yet they're o'er stark about the hurdier-
O'er dreigh shin',
To gae to flee like birs o' burdies-
An' that they'll fin'.

I'd war the price o' twa gude shoon,
To see this sam trick fairly done;
But whan they' re-liftin' to the moon
wi' glee and fun,
Wow, first, they'll fley the birds aboon
As sure's a gun.

Tho' I war sure o' na misehanter,
My dizzle plow I wadnae venture
To sail lae heigh aboon the centre
In sie a car,
Or flee on ony mad adventure,
The Lord scens whar.

To gae to flee w' d'il ae raether!
An' climb the air without a lather!-
Eh! by my fael I'd ha'e a tether
To stop my drift,
Whan hablin' at a big blawn blather,
Up thro' the lift.

A tipsy buk wad yoke it fine,
Whase pow is dais'd wi' midnight wine,
"Dem me (he'd cry) let's have a shine,"
An' aff he'd flee,
Till fate might land him soon or syne
In some muzee.

In Frank ilk, ane has his balloon-
They're swarmin there in ilk a town,
Like pyets happin up an' down;
But mony a ane
Has fa'en an gotten a cracket crown,
Or broken bane.

Balloons are rife enough at hame,
Our [??] forums are the same,
Wi' noddles toomer far than them
They [??] the caufey,
At mony a reekless airy scheme,
Baith proud an' fancy.

There's Wattick, who hut fernyear cam'
Wi' plaidin' coat [??] the plough tram,
Wha glour'd as coil'd as ony ram,
[??]
He keeps a shop, and that nae sham---
Keek at him now!

His pow wi' creish an' [??] is socket;
Fine tape to [??] newly stocket;
Wi' baith his haffets [??] docket
He struts awa';
An' eh rae heigh's his nose is cocket-
Gude guide us a'!

O' pride he has an unco flair,
Nor g'ies a nod to ane that's bare,
But like balloons flew thro' the air
Wi' sky fail riggin';
Ay mony a castle he has there
O' his ain' biggin'.

Poor doited ghaist! he disna think
That you h'is but a bony blink
Whilk fliely steals him to the brink
O'blirty cild,
Whar his balloon some day maun sink
An' flinch the field.
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Speedily will be published, in Three Vols. 12h10,
THE AIR-BALLOON,
A NOVEL.
In this my Novel Air-Balloon,
I mean a party to the Moon;
consult the planets, and the stars,
And chat with Mercury and Mars,
Learn all the pretty thefts above,
As hints below, for those in love;
then take a trip to [toniso] France,
View Sweden, Italy, and Dantz;
Pass o'er to Germany, and Spain,
And pay a how d'ye to the Dane;
Next pass the Alps, and visit Rome,
To drop a tear at Virgil's tomb;
From thence for India and Peru,
In search of what is rare and new,
T' enrich the plan, I have in view,
Through Flanders next I mean to steer,
And take a whiff with Yaw Mynheer;
Then heigh for England's happy isle,
Where all the Loves and Graces smile;
There bursting from my airy shell,
The secrets of my prison tell,
In hopes each reader to delight,
In what my fancy shall indite,
Drawn from the customs, manners, lives,
Of men, their mistresses, and wives;
Whether from home, or foreign Court,
Each shall be made your laugh and sport.
By the Author of
N. B. FASHIONABLE FOLLIES: a Novel, in two volumes, with an elegant characteristic design by the celebrated Mr. de Loutherbourgh, and engraved by that eminent artist Mr. C. Ruotte, may be had at Mr. R. Dodsley's, Pall-mall, where the above new Novel will be published, and timely notice given.
^[[Jan 7 1784]]
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THE AIR BALLOON.
[[^1784]]
BY land, let them travel, as many as list,
And by sea, those who like the hard fare;
In an airy Balloon, whilst I sit at my ease,
And pleasantly glide thro' the air!

Round this globe, is the farthest they ever can reach,
Let them travel night, morning, and noon;
Such excursions as these, are but mere bagatelle,
When compar'd with a trip to the moon!

In my chariot aerial, how pleasant to go,
To see all my friends in the stars: -
Take a breakfast with Mercury, and dine if I please,
With Jupiter, Saturn, or Mars!

And should I fatigued, or wearisome prove,
Whilst from planet to planet, I'm dodging;
With Venus, I'm welcome to tarry all night,
Where on earth can you find such a lodging?

E.T.P.
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[[start of page]]
POETRY.
^[[1785]]
SONG.
TAFETY, AIR-BALLOON,
By Sir THOMAS G---, Bart.
To the Tune of GALLOPING DREARY DUN.

A CARRIAGE I have, and 'tis one of my own,
Taffety Air Balloon,
And what is the wonder, 'twill go all alone,
With its hail, gaily, gambo, raily,
Giggling, niggling, fluttering tiffany,
Taffety Air Balloon.

I mounted the thing, so gay and so fair,
Taffety Air Balloon,
And I fill'd the machine with inflammable air,
With my haily, &c.

Of the Man in the Moon I enquired the way,
Taffety Air Balloon,
Odzooks! quoth the wight, you've quite gone astray,
With your hailey, &c.

I scodded along, and 'ere it was morn,
Taffety Air Balloon,
I found myself stuck upon Taurus's horn,
with my haily, &c.

The terrified sign toss'd me off with a bound,
Taffety Air Balloon,
And I found myself landed on Irish ground,
With my baily, gaily, gambo raily,
Taffety Air Balloon!
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[[start page]]
The favourite BALLOON SONG, sung by Mr. Arrowsmith at VAUXHALL. Set by Mr. ARNE. Written by Mr. PILLON.
^[[1785]]
YE high and low-flyers, of all ranks attend,
and council receive from an Aeronaut friend;
Your coaches and chariots henceforth lay aside,
Prepare in balloons thro' the skies all to ride,
With dust of vile wads who'd be choak'd or be blind,
Like witches on brooms you may post on the wind,
O'er valleys, high hills, and wide seas you may sweep,
And into the moon, your own sphere, take a peep.
The Belle, who for titles in vain heaves the sigh,
Can't fail of a star, there's enough in the sky;
In moons made of honey, fond husbands at peace,
Shall ne'er know when horns do begin or increase;
Whilst teh poet who starv'd here below all his life,
A fortune shall get in the clouds with a wife,
and fed with pure aether, Cameleon's light fare,
Our bard shall possess a fine castle in air.

The holder of stock too, when up he ascends,
In the Bull and the Bear, shall find Alley friends;
Physicians also, to teh skies hou'd they rove,
Shall meet many friends they themselves sent above,
And fee'd by Old Nick to untune all the spheres,
Good lawyers might set sun and moon by the ears;
But in pity to Earth wou'd England's Queen fly,
She'd bring down Astrea once more from the sky.
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[[start page]]
for the Public Advertiser.
^[[1784]]
AIR BALLOON.
IN Air Balloon, as in a rapid Car,
From Earth, as from my Barriet, I set out,
How swift I mount! Diminish'd "Earth" recedes;
I pass the "Moon;" and from her farther Side,
Pierce Heav'n's blue Curtain; strike into "Remote;"
Where, with his lifted Tube, the subtle Sage
His artificial, airy Journey takes,
And to "Celestial" lengthens "Human" Sight.
I pause at ev'ry "Planet" on my Road,
And ask for "him" who gives their Orbs to roll,
Their Foreheads fair to shine. From "Saturn's" Ring
With the bold "Comet," take my bolder Flight,
Amid those "sovereign" Glories of the Skies,
Of independent, native Lustre proud;
The Souls of Systems! and the Lords of Life,
Through their wide Empires! - What behold I "now?"
A Wilderness of Wonders burning round;
Where "larger" suns inhabit "higher" Spheres;
Perhaps the "Villas" of descending Gods!
Pause then; and, for a Moment here respire,
If Human Thought can keep its Station here.
Where am I? Where is Earth? Nay, where art thou,
O! Sun? - Is the Sun turn'd Recluse? And are
"His" boasted Expeditions short to "mine?"
To "mine" how short! On Nature's Alps I stand,
And see a Thousand Firmaments beneath!
A Thousand Systems! as a Thousand Grains!
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[start page]
POETRY
^[[1784]]
The BALLOON HAT.
SEEST thou you hat, whose dancing plume
O'er Celia's stresses casts a gloom,
And shades her lovely face?
From Gallia's fire-fraught AIR BALLOON
This feather'd monster of the town
Its lineage dares to trace.
Nor ill defin'd its name, I ween:
Adapted to the fickle mien
And nature of a woman-
For are not some who figure in it,
The flying Cynthians of a minute,
Than air more light and common?
EPHEBUS.
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BALLOONISTS.
OH! happy nation, great in arts and arms,
Whose Milliners the love of glory warms,
Whose Admirals forsake the swelling tide,
"High on the wings of mighty winds to ride;"
Whose Surgeons leave their patients to their fate,
To whisk about the air in full blown state.
 Could Bacon, Boyle, or mighty Newton see
Such wretched spawn of new philosophy,
Mere children, of their air-blown bubbles proud,
No aim but to delight the gaping crowd,
Such mere mon-monkies in a mortal shape,
"They'd view these heroes as we view the ape."
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[start page]
SONNET.
On an AIR BALLOON.
By Mrs. POZZI.

IN empty space, behold me hurl'd,
The sport and wonder of the World;
With eager gaze, while I aspire,
Expanded with aerial fire!
And since Man's selfish race demands,
More empire than the Sea's or Land's;
For him, my Courage mounts the Skies,
Invoking Nature while I rise!
Mother of all! if thus refin'd,
My flights can BENEFIT MANKIND;
Let them by Me, new realms prepare,
And take possession of the Air.
But if to ILLS alone I lead-
Quickly, oh quick, let Me recede!
Or blaze, a splendid exhibition,
A BEACON, for their mad AMBITION!
^[[1788]]
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[start page]
^[[1788]]
AIR-BALLOON
Negata Tentat Iten Via.
IN vain, since hapless mortals try
To shun th' unerring shafts of Death;
Since all that creep, and all that fly,
Must, soon or late, relign their brath!

Why should we fear t' improve the day?
The fleeting day from darkness given!
And, where bright Science points the way
To range the land, the sea, the heaven!

Then freely mount th' expanse above,
Fond Man! nor dread the ebon rod;
On wings of wind sublimely rove,
A great, a momentary God!

Beholds he mounts! and deems it fable
By gloomy Jews contriv'd of old
That those who rais'd the Tower of Babel
Were by the Almighty's hand contrul'd.

No more the Eternal rules in ire,
His wondrous love is round display'd!
He smiles to see weak man aspire,
Pleas'd with the worm his breath has made!

And thou who cleav'st the azure sky,
Like him, with pity shall look down!
Shall view, like him, with equal eye,
The Shepherd's Crook, the Monarch's Crown!
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