Come if you dare, our trumpets sound.
Come if you dare, the foes rebound.
We come, says the double beat of the thund'ring drum.

Now they change on amain,
Now they rally again;
The Gods from above the mad labor behold,
And pity mankind that will perish for gold,

The fainting Saxons quit the ground,
The trumpets languish in the sound.
They fly! Victoria! the bold Britons cry.

Now the victory's won,
To plunder we run;
We return to our lasses, like fortunate traders.
Triumphant with spoils of our vanquish'd invaders.