“Who shot the dog?” in our ears,
What an inward fire flares up to inspire
Us London Volunteers.
Then a fig for showers and sneerers,
Let’s show Sir Robert yet;
We can laugh at fire and fleerers,
As we’ve laughed at heavy wet.
And we hope to teach the foeman,
Who on our shore appears,
If home rains we’ve borne, French reins we scorn,