St George he was for England, / And before he killed the dragon / He drank a pint of English ale / Out of an English flagon.

Merrily taking twopenny ale and cheese with a pocket knife; / But these were luxuries not for him who went for the Simple Life.

The men that worked for England / They have their graves at home.

Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget. / For we are the people of England, that never have spoken yet.

And they that rule in England, in stately conclaves met, alas, alas for England they have no graves as yet.

Filled with mingled cream and amber I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chambers of my brain -- Quaintest thoughts -- queerest fancies Come to life and fade away; Who cares how time advances? I am drinking ale today.