Classic Poem

None shall arise to help you, none shall come to your aid,
When your Princes pale for terror and the People are sore afraid.

Ye shall be slaves and bondmen, ye shall be bought and sold,
Yea in the open market they shall buy your sons for gold.
Tempests shall sink your shipping, founder it far and wide,
From Land's End to the Orkneys, from Portland Bill to the Clyde.

Ye shall hide your bloodless faces, ye shall tremble and turn to flight,
When the Star of War, like a comet, flares full on your fields by night,

When the face of the sun is hidden and the stars wax weak and wan,
When the thunder's voice is upon you, and I keep bellowing on!
Riddled with all disaster, wrecked past hope shall ye be,
Ruined beyond redemption — unless ye listen to ME!