England in Ribbons

I am Grandfather Christmas; I've come in from the cold.
I've a story to sing to you that as new as it's old.
Such stars as I have called upon to play out their parts,
They'll dazzle your eyes; they'll quicken your hearts.

Here is rags and here's tatters; here is sweat and here's soot.
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
Here is one, two, three jolly boys all ready for a fight,
And the first that comes in is our bold Turkish knight.

I have come from the East, where the red dawn does break.
I'll stomp and I'll storm and I'll make your world shake.
I'll cut you to shreds; I'll swish and I'll swagger,
And I'll make you dance upon the very tip of my dagger.

Here is rags and here's tatters; here is sweat and here's soot.
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
Now our actors are cast in the furnace and forge,
And the next that comes in is out hero Saint George.

I have come from the West where the red sun does set.
Well met, bold Turkey; bold Turkey, well met.
I'll slit you; I'll slice you; we'll see the gore fly,
And I'll send you home in a calico pie.

Here is rags and here's tatters; here is sweat and here's soot.
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
Here is rattle and clatter; here's tumult and din.
Stand back; stand back and let battle begin.

In comes I, the bold slasher; I'm as brave as a bear.
I'll stop all their cutting and their strutting, I swear.
O, I'll bang both their heads with my hammer and tongs,
For I am the man who will right all their wrongs.

Here is rags and here's tatters, here is sweat and here's soot;
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
And bold slasher wades in, through the thin and the thick,
But he soon drops down wounded; he is cut to the grin.

Stand back, Saint George, and put down your blade,
For here on the ground lays the hero we've slayed.
He was caught in our crossfire; see what we've done:
We've killed our own brother beneath the evening sun.

Here is rags and here's tatters; here is sweat and here's soot.
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
Oh and is there a doctor in here to be found,
To cure our bold brother of his deadly wounds?

I am the physician and my name is Doctor Quack,
And if the life has gone out of him. I'll soon fetch it back.
I have potions; I've poisons; I've pills in great store,
But the fee for my services is ten pounds or more.

Here is rags and here's tatters; here is sweat and here's soot.
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
Oh, the doctor's been paid; his bottle is poised.
Now let's have some shush; hold your breath make no noise.

Three drops to his head, three drops to his heart.
Now rise up, bold slasher, and play out your part.
He stares; he rises; oh, see how he stands.
He's a front-parlour miracle; he's the best in all the land.

Here is rags and here's tatters; here is sweat and here's soot.
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
Oh and tell us, bold slasher, now where have you been?
And tell us, bold slasher, now what have you seen?

I spun once around, like the moon across the field.
I've dipped into dust and my wounds were all healed.
I have waned, I've waxed and I've danced free of death;
So that all here might sing of me as long as you've breath.

Here is rags and here's tatters; here is sweat and here's soot.
Here is England in ribbons from her head down to foot.
Oh and if we all live to see another new year,
Perhaps we might call and see who does live here.