  WHEN London burns, the Iron Duke Will tremble ’neath his pall, In dread of the MailÈd Fist’s rebuke And the Huns’ red carnival. When London burns, our Admiral High Will drop from his pillar tall, And the Death’s Head riders trampling by Will mock him in his fall. When London burns—in a madman’s brain Such dreams alone befall; But England flames on the land, on the main, To the Duke and the Admiral’s call. |
|
