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. {122} 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!" [Illustration: 130] {123} [Illustration: 131] THE SPEECH. 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. {124} '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;