Song Of The Steam Coachman That Drives The Omnibus To The Moon

A Railway to the moon.

NOW is the time for a sly trip to the Moon, sir,
There 's a new RAIL ROAD just made through the Sky,.
Or if you prefer it, we have a prime BALLOON, sir,
In which you can ascend with me up sky-high.

Travelling the rage is-in the tying of a sandal,
We take our tea in Tartary¹, or chop at Coromandel¹,
Then when blazing hot we get with India's gums and spices,
We take a stroll towards the Pole, and cool our-selves with ices.
Now is the time for a sly trip to the Moon, sir, &c.

Our HORSES they never tire, for they 're coal and coke, sir,
With jolly lots of water boiling hot,
We cut along like_bricks¹ among the fire and smoke, sir,
Never blowing no one up, nor going to pot.

Our COACHMAN nice and steady is, not like the old fat soaker,
For 'stead of passing GLASSES round, he passes round THE POKER :
Our GUARDS, too, are a quiet set of fire-blowing FELLOWS,
Who 'stead of blowing noisy HORNS, now blow a PAIR OF BELLOWS

Now is the time for a sly trip to the Moon, sir,
There 's a new RAIL ROAD just made through the Sky,
Or if you prefer it, we have a prime BALLOON, sir,
In which you can ascend with me up sky-high.