The Fleet

You, you, if you shall fail to under-stand
What England is, and what her all-in-all,
On you will come the curse of all the land,
Should this old England fall
Which Nelson left so great.

His isle, the mightiest Ocean-power on earth,
Our own fair isle, the lord of every sea—
Her fuller franchise—what would that be worth—
Her ancient fame of Free—
Were she... a fallen state?

Her dauntless army scatter'd, and so small,
Her island-myriads fed from alien lands—
The fleet of England is her all-in-all;
Her fleet is in your hands,
And in her fleet her Fate.

You, you, that have the ordering of her fleet,
If you should only compass her dis-grace,
When all men starve, the wild mob's million feet
Will kick you from your place,
But then too late, too late.