owd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
Their meaner flights pursue,
Let us cast off the foolish ties
That bind us to the earth, and rise
And take a bird's-eye view!--

II.

A few more whiffs of my segar
And then, in Fancy's airy car,
Have with thee for the skies:--
How oft this fragrant smoke upcurl'd
Hath borne me from this little world,
And all that in it lies!--

III.

Away!--away!--the bubble fills--
Farewell to earth and all its hills!--
We seem to cut the wind!--
So high we mount, so swift we go,
The chimney tops are far below,
The Eagle's left behind!--

IV.

Ah me! my brain begins to swim!--
The world is growing rather dim;
The steeples and the trees--
My wife is getting very small!
I cannot see my babe at all!--
The Dollond, if you please!--

V.

Do, Graham, let me have a quiz;
Lord! what a Lilliput it is.
That little world of Mogg's!--
Are those the London Docks?--that channel,
The mighty Thames?--a proper kennel
For that small Isle of Dogs!--

VI.

What is that seeming tea-urn there?
That fairy dome, St. Paul's!--I swear,
Wren must have been a Wren!--
And that small stripe?--it cannot be
The City Road!--Good lack! to see
The little ways of men!

VII.

Little, indeed!--my eyeballs ache
To find a turnpike.--I must take
Their tolls upon my trust!--
And where is mortal labor gone?
Look, Graham, for a little stone
Mac Adamiz'd to dust!

VIII.

Look at the horses!--less than flies!--
Oh, what a waste it was of sighs
To wish to be a Mayor!
What is the honor?--none at all,
One's honor must be very small
For such a civic chair!--

IX.

And there's Guildhall!--'tis far aloof--
Methinks, I fancy through the roof
Its little guardian Gogs,
Like penny dolls--a tiny show!--
Well,--I must say they're rul'd below
By very little logs!--

X.

Oh, Graham! how the upper air
Alters the standards of compare;
One of our silken flags
Would cover London all about--
Nay, then--let's even empty out
Another brace of bags!

XI.

Now for a glass of bright champagne
Above the clouds!--Come, let us drain
A bumper as we go!--
But hold!--for God's sake do not cant
The cork away--unless you want
To brain your friends below.

XII.

Think! what a mob of little men
Are crawling just within our ken,
Like mites upon a cheese!--
Pshaw!--how the foolish sight rebukes
Ambitious thoughts!--can there be _Dukes_
Of _