Читать книгу Terrible Tractoration, and Other Poems онлайн

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We mean to bore us, at a venture,

Some auger-holes through Hutton’s centre,

Thus give an unexpected vent

To Hutton’s fires in prison pent.

We’ll fan his furnace by a pair

Of bellows made of Franklin’s air,[40]

For air, (a truth Count Rumford knew well,)

Contains the very soul of fuel.

Then pour in suddenly the ocean

To add eclat to our explosion;—

Water, your worships know, or may know,

Adds terribly to a volcano.

Each orifice will then give birth

To grand satellites of earth,

Disploded dreadfully, dear me!

Like Darwin’s moon from southern sea.

How will the universe admire,

When my vast bickering globes of fire,

In grand Darwinian style shall rise,

Like flying mountains through the skies.

Though said sublime explosions must

Destroy good Doctor Burnet’s crust,[41]

By Parker’s cement we’ll endeavor[42]

To make his shell as good as ever.

Now when we’ve made our batch of moons,

Philosophers, unless they’re loons,

Will, though we’re such a surly gnostic,

Name one of them “Great Doctor Caustic!”