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And who so likely to support with spirit
Our native Shore, as those who feel its merit.
With Miss Brookes thanks to you, who kindly sit
To see her ben’fit and to hear my wit ;
I'll take my leave, and like her thank you too;
Yes, thank sincerely you, and you, and you ;*
Trusting that when my motive's understood,
You'll say, he acts not ill, whose cause is good.

* Box, Pitt, and Gallery.

AN

A MILITARY

ADDRESS OF MINE, Spoken at the closing of the Theatre at Southend, in Essex, the Play having been chosen by

some of the Essex Volunteers.

O FERTILE isle, for wealth and beauty fam'd,
A second Paradise, or Eden nam’l,
Thou fairest spot of our terrestr’al sphere,
Let only happiness inhabit here.
So said great Jove, when, plunging in the waves,
He rais’d this isle, whose sides old Ocean laves ;
And smiling on the earth, display'd to sight,
Well pleas’d survey'd the pearl he'd brought to light.
No wonder then, New France has spread alarms,
And try'd to rouse the Continent to arms.
Envious of England's opulence and pow'r,
Her tyrant trembles for th' approaching hour,
When Britain's conquests, spread from shore to shore,
True Freedom shall extend, and tyrants breathe no more:

How

How foolish this, tavert domestic jar, By madly braving England's youth to war. Rever.ge, revenge, the sons of Albion cry, And all to arms, in gath’ring tumults fly; Each ardent singly to decide the cause, And shew the justice of his country's laws; Whilst Bonaparte, frighten'd at the sight Of British valour, shuns th’ unequal fight, Wisely inclines his bullying wrath tassuage, And leave invasion for some future age. How wise, vain Gauls, for, (driv’n from Africk's shore By those brave heroes, Hutchinson, and Moore, Led by Sir Ralph, who, for his country's good, Seal'd Égypt's glorious vict'ry with his blood,) Ye, madly boasting to subdue the world, Saw your proud standard for Britannia furld, Heard gallant Sydney thund'ring from afar, Sydney the fav’rite of the God of War; Sydney a name to ev'ry Briton dear, And sweetly sounding in Britannia's ear; But to a Frenchman's, and faith no wonder, Sounding terrific, like the awful thunder ; His name tremendous as the God of Battles, That 'midst bombs, grape shot, shells,and mortais rattles.

Yes,

Yes, brave Sir Sidney, thy chivalrick fame,
Great and illustrious as thy noble name,
Shall live immortal in th' historic page,
And brighter glow to each succeeding age;
Like a fine Claude, as age to age succeeds,
So bright shall seem thy high heroic deeds,
Fame's col'ring mellow'd down by Truth's bright ray,
Shall shine effulgent as the source of day.
If this bright fame for but one Acre too,
Ye Gods, for millions, what won't Sydney do. :
He skill'd like brave Nelson, Hawke, Rodney, Howe,
To make proud Gallia's flag to England's bow ;
Not French themselves, more pliant in the back,
They and their fags a sort of supple jack ;
Unlike our Jacks, who stiff as British oak,
Disdain to bend to any foreign yoke.
Which made Linois's squadron so enhance
The unknown merits of our country Dance,
That when our tars began their balls to play,
So ill they lik’d the Dance, they ran away ;
Tho' had it been a French cotillion set,
That on the China seas Linois met,
Active as monkies they'd have join’d the Dance,
Cotillion steps the fav’rite ones in France,

D 2

Yes,

How foolish this, t' avert domestic jar,
By madly braving Englanıl's youth to war.
Reverge, revenge, the sons of Albion cry,
And all to arms, in gath’ring tumults fly;
Each ardent singly to decide the cause,
And shew the justice of his country's laws ;
Whilst Bonaparte, frighten'd at the sight
Of British valour, shuns th’ unequal fight,
Wisely inclines his bullying wrath t'assuage,
And leave invasion for some future age.
How wise, vain Gauls, for, (driv'n from Africk's shore
By those brave heroes, Hutchinson, and Moore,
Led by Sir Ralph, who, for his country's good,
Seal'd Égypt's glorious victry with his blood,)
Ye, madly boasting to subdue the world,
Saw your proud standard for Britannia furld,
Heard gallant Sydney thund'ring from afar,
Sydney the fav’rite of the God of Wari
Sydney a name to ev'ry Briton dear,
And sweetly sounding in Britannia's ear ;
But to a Frenchman's, and faith no wonder,
Sounding terrific, like the awful thunder ;
His name tremendous as the God of Battles,
That’midst bombs, grape shot, shells,and mortais rattles,

Yes,

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