So we bore up into the clouds, Of creature comforts ample store; And really coffee ne'er was known To rise so speedily before.
Our tongues, though salted, never halted; Our game fresh-kill'd was very high; And, though all nicely truss'd and roasted, We saw our fowls and turkeys fly!
Our solid food rose like a puff, Hard biscuit seem'd a trifle, too; And our champagne was so much up, That e'en our empty bottles flew!
Our spirits rose; in fact we were, When not a dozen miles from Dover, Quite in a state of elevation, Indisputably "half seas over."
How like conspirators were we, So snug we kept our hour of rising; And when our movement once was made, All London cried, "Oh! how surprising!"
If, when we soar'd above the great, They trembled, 'twas without occasion: Our thoughts were turned to France; in truth We meditated an invasion!
But over earth and over sea We went without one hostile notion; Our war on earth, a civil war; The Channel,—our Pacific Ocean.
When passing over Chatham town We were just finishing a chicken; A soldier and a maiden fair I saw whilst I the bones was picking.
I threw a drumstick at the youth, Who all around the culprit sought; And whilst the maiden laughed aloud, I struck her with a merry thought.
In darkness we the Channel cross'd, And left our fragile car to chance; And, scorning customary rules, Without a passport enter'd France!