This is the tale of the Blankshires bold, the famous charge they made;
This is the tale of the deeds they did whose glory never will fade;
They only numbered X hundred men and the German were thousands (Y),
Yet on the battlefield of Z they made the foeman fly.
Calm and cool on the field they stood (near a town—I can't say where);
Some of them hugged their rifles close but none of them turned a hair;
The Colonel (I must suppress his name) looked out on the stubborn foe,
And said, "My lads, we must drive them hence, else A + B will go."
Then each man looked in his neighbour's face and laughed with sudden glee
(The Briton fights his very best for algebra's formulæ);