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An Incantation

 Come with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go;
Bubbles bright as ever Hope
Drew from fancy -- or from soap;
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent
from its frothy element!
Come with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go.
Mix the lather, Johnny W--lks, Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks; Mix the lather - who can be Fitter for such task than thee, Great M.
for Sudsbury! For the frothy charm is ripe, Puffing Peter bring thy pipe, -- Thou, whom ancient Coventry, Once so dearly lov'd, that she Knew not which to her was sweeter, Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter; -- Puff the bubbles high in air, Puff thy best to keep them there.
Bravo, bravo, Peter M--re! Now the rainbow humbugs soar, Glitt'ring all with golden hues, Such as haunt the dreams of Jews; -- Some reflecting mines that lie Under Chili's glowing sky, Some, those virgin pearls that sleep Cloister'd in the southern deep; Others, as if lent a ray Form the streaming Milky Way, Glist'ning o'er with curds and whey From the cows of Alderney.
Now's the moment -- who shall first Catch the buble, ere they burst? Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, Br-gd-n, T-ynh-m, P-lm-t-n; -- John W--lks junior runs beside ye! Take the good the knaves provide ye! See, with upturn'd eyes and hands, Where the Shareman, Bri-gd-n, stands, Gaping for the froth to fall Down his gullet - lye and all.
See!---But hark my time is out -- Now, like some great water-spout, Scaterr'd by the cannon's thunder, Burst, ye bubbles, burst asunder!

Poem by Thomas Moore
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