To-day, since Zeppelins are in the air,
    And folks glance skywards as they go their ways,
Let us hark back a bit to an affair
    That happened in Queen Bess’s sturdy days,
When the Armada, backed by Spanish lust—
    A fleet that floating palaces resembled—
Sailed proudly forth to crush us in the dust,
    While all the tremulous in England trembled.

What was the fate of those unwieldy craft?
    Our little frigates made of British oak
Harassed the mighty galleons fore and aft,
    Handy to strike and shun the counterstroke.
The Great Invasion ended in defeat.
    No more could Philip play the part of mocker,
The rout of the Armada was complete,
    And down it went to Davy Jones’s locker.

What frigates did in 1558
    May be repeated in the air to-day,
When clumsy Zeppelins may meet their fate
    From aeroplanes that sting and dart away.
A well-equipped and handy air patrol
    Would circumvent an aerial attack.
If London is to be the Zeppes’ goal,
    It’s up to us to see they don’t go back!