Rule Brittania

Rule Brittania

The Britisher at Bethlehem still wears his bowler hat,
And asks politely for some tea, with muffins and all that!
You would not call him pious, but he knows how things should be;
He lays his rolled umbrella down and drops upon his knee
With wiser men upon the hay.
`God save the Queen' — you'll hear him pray!

The Britisher at Bethlehem his carols loves to sing,
And with the Sally Army band he greets the infant King.
He eats too much, he spends too much, he gives too much away,
With all the glee of childhood counts the hours till Christmas Day:
And be he Irish, Welsh or Scot,
He thanks the Lord for what he's got!

The Britisher at Bethlehem can hear the abbey bell
Reminding him it's Christmas, whilst Big Ben will hourly tell
That politics and parliaments have but the briefest day,
And Downing Street will call upon its countrymen to pray!
Then Labour, Tory, Democrat
Will bow his head and doff his hat!

The Britisher at Bethlehem, if taken by surprise, eves:
Is found to be quite moved, though he'll say, 'Smoke gets in your eyes!’
And fumble for his handkerchief and loudly blow his nose.
It's not polite to tell him that his deep emotion shows!
'I'm not religious, friend,' he'll say.
But it's a lie on Christmas Day!