ADDRESS. [_Spoken on board his Majesty’s ship “Britannia,” off Cadiz._] My Lord and Gentlemen,—Alas! off Cadiz, How hard it is we can’t address the ladies, For “if the brave alone deserve the fair,” Britannia’s sons should surely have their share! But, since their valour, tho’ upon record, Like other merits, is its own reward, Tho’ female charms inspire us not—again We welcome you—my Lord and Gentlemen! You, too, brave fellows! who the background tread, Alike we welcome—jackets blue or red; And humbly hope that while we give our aid “To cheer the tedium of a dull blockade,” To banish _ennui_ for a few short hours, However feeble our theatric powers, Our well-meant efforts to amuse awhile, Will meet the wish’d reward—your fav’ring smile. For tho’, while thro’ our parts we swell and pant, We stun your ears with mock-heroic rant; We trust “to pay their suff’rings through your eyes,” By the bright splendours of the gay disguise In which our heroes (nor let critics grin), Bedight in robes of “bunting laced with tin,” As kings or emperors, with mimic rage, Strut their short hour upon this “floating stage.” In times of yore, as grave old authors write, Poets possess’d a kind of “second sight,” And could (tho’, _entre nous_, ’twas all a hum) Inform you clearly of “events to come.” Oh! could the Bard, who, to amuse your time, Has manufactur’d all this “doggerel rhyme,” From mortal mists clear his desiring eyes, And pry into your future destinies: He would foretell (nor ask you, as a charm, Like other soothsayers, “to cross his palm”) What—yes, he sees!—must on your courage wait, “An happy fortune, and a glorious fate!” Yes!—he foresees—confirm his prospects, Heav’n, “Yon coop’d up boasters,” to your wishes giv’n; Sees their proud ensigns from their standards torn, Their vanquish’d navies in glad triumph borne; Sees added laurels grace our Nelson’s brow, And Victory hovering o’er his glowing prow; His conqu’ring banners o’er the waves unfurl’d, And Britain’s thunder rule the wat’ry world. If aught of prescience to the Muse belong, Soon, soon, the scenes that animate her song, In glowing colours shall salute your eyes, And Heav’n shall bid th’ auspicious morn arise; When France and Spain shall be again subdued, And your “brave leader’s” victories renew’d.