I came to woo you at behest of Uncle Leo, did my best
to charm and flatter, sooth, lay thoughts of scheming Saxon Prince to rest.
Just seventeen, you were emboldened, turned away plain Orange boy
and made for me a consort haven in your heart, haven of joy.

Now Empire spills a growing blot across the atlas, leaves its mark.
The hands of men in iron ships stoke their boilers, fan the spark.
Generous in deed and promise, our emissaries make fair trade
and pay with sovereign Queenly coin for goods and worldly fortunes made.

We will win them and contain them, not with aid of Gatling gun:
no hard coercion, whip or stick but ten good shillings to be won.
See, we offer contracts clear in English, plain as it appears
in small print, some trifling matters: not important, never fear.
 [bad word]  Pax Britannica, Pax [bad word] the headland and the wave.
Hansa spirit will enrich us, keep us from an early grave.
Sweet Victoria, Mother England, gracious queen whom God will save.

We’ll leave them gifts of architecture, engineering, laws and more.
The willow bat, the bowler hat of gentlemen who keep the score.
Head-up code of moral conduct, never minions to deceive.
Straight the ball and, best of all, when time [bad word]  we take our leave.
 [bad word]  Pax Britannica, Pax [bad word] the headland and the wave.
Hansa spirit will enrich us, keep us from an early grave.
My sweet Victoria, your dearest Bertie; two ledger lines above the stave.