March, march, the redcoats swing,
through smoke and drumfire’s ring;
muskets flash, the fifes cry high,
’neath scarlet and sky.
Grenadiers with powder’d pride,
toss bombs where rebels hide;
beat the stride, let cannons roar—
Britannia’s thunder, evermore!
Steady hearts in steady rows,
where Thames or empire flows;
drum-tap keeps our martial breath—
victory or glorious death!