DRYDEN
XVII
A SONG OF KING ARTHUR
Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;
Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:
We come, we come, we come, we come,
Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.
Now they charge on amain,
Now they rally again:
The gods from above the mad labour behold,
And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.
The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
Their trumpets languish in the sound:
They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;
Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.
Now the victory’s won,
To the plunder we run:
We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,
Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish’d invaders.
John Dryden.