When storms on the ocean
Create high emotion,
It pleases the wish
Of the monarch of fish,
For he gambols and sports in the motion.
Should a shoal of small fry
Attempt to draw nigh,
With a flap of his tail,
Th’ imperial whale
Makes them pay for their rashness, and die.
Oh! thus, on the seas,
Just with the same ease,
Should the enemy come,
In ship, boat, or bomb,
We will knock them about as we please;
Till at last they shall cry,
“We are the small fry,
And Britannia’s the whale,
By a flap of whose tail,
If we dare to approach her we die.”