To Lord Marbois a civil note,
Which he ne’er answered, like a bear,
So now I send my modest prayer
To your dread throne, or stool, or chair.
The plan, my lord, which I have hit on
Will quite destroy the pride of Britain;
The great torpedoes I prepare
Will blow her ships up in the air,
And every man-of-war will soon
Ascend just like a vast balloon.