All you need is Poetree

Spite of Dutch friends and English foes,

Poor Britain shall have peace at last:

Holland got towns, and we got blows;

  But Dunkirk's ours, we'll hold it fast.

    We have got it in a string,

    And the Whigs may all go swing,

For among good friends I love to be plain;

    All their false deluded hopes

The moonlight fades from flower and rose

And the stars dim one by one;

The tale is told, the song is sung,

And the Fairy feast is done.

The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers,

And sings to them, soft and low.

The early birds erelong will wake:

'T is time for the Elves to go.

Sister, rise up after your freedom,

why are you quiet?

rise up because henceforth

you have to imbibe the blood of tyrannical men.

Seek your rights, Sister,

from those who keep you weak,

from those whose myriad tricks and schemes

keep you seated in a corner of the house.