'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor
 With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead?
She 'as ships on the foam—she 'as millions at 'ome,
 An' she pays us poor beggars in red.
 (Ow, poor beggars in red!)
There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses,
 There's 'er mark on the medical stores—
An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind
 That takes us to various wars.
 (Poor beggars!—barbarious wars!)
 Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor,
  An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns,
 The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces
  O' Missis Victorier's sons.
 (Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!)

Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor,
 For 'alf o' Creation she owns:
We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame,
 An' we've salted it down with our bones.
 (Poor beggars!—it's blue with our bones!)
Hands off o' the sons o' the Widow,
 Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop,
For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown
 When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop"!
 (Poor beggars!—we're sent to say "Stop"!)
 Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow,
  From the Pole to the Tropics it runs—
 To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file,
  An' open in form with the guns.
 (Poor beggars!—it's always they guns!)

We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor,
 It's safest to let 'er alone:
For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land
 Wherever the bugles are blown.
 (Poor beggars!—an' don't we get blown!)
Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin',
 An' flop round the earth till you're dead;
But you won't get away from the tune that they play
 To the bloomin' old rag over'ead.
 (Poor beggars!—it's 'ot over'ead!)
 Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow,
  Wherever, 'owever they roam.
 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require
  A speedy return to their 'ome.
 (Poor beggars!—they'll never see 'ome!)

There sat two glasses filled to the brim
On a rich man's table, rim to rim,
One was ruddy and red as blood,
And one was clear as the crystal flood.
 
Said the Glass of Wine to his paler brother:
"Let us tell tales of the past to each other;
I can tell of banquet and revel and mirth,
Where I was king, for I ruled in might;
For the proudest and grandest souls of earth
Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight.
From the heads of kings I have torn the crown;
From the heights of fame I have hurled men down.
I have blasted many an honored name;
I have taken virtue and given shame;
I have tempted youth with a sip, a taste,
That has made his future a barren waste.
Far greater than any king am I,
Or than any army beneath the sky.
I have made the arm of the driver fail,
And sent the train from the iron rail.
I have made good ships go down at sea,
And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me.
Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall;
And my might and power are over all!
Ho, ho, pale brother," said the Wine,
"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"
 
Said the Water Glass: "I cannot boast
Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host;
But I can tell of hearts that were sad,
By my crystal drops made bright and glad;
Of thirsts I have quenched and brows I have laved,
Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved.
I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain,
Slipped from the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain,
I have burst my cloud-fetters, and dropped from the sky,
And everywhere gladdened the prospect and eye;
I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain,
I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain.
I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,
That ground out the flour, and turned at my will.
I can tell of manhood debased by you
That I have uplifted and crowned anew;
I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid,
I gladden the heart of man and maid;
I set the wine-chained captive free,
And all are better for knowing me."
 
These are the tales they told each other,
The Glass of Wine, and its paler brother,
As they sat together, filled to the brim,
On a rich man's table, rim to rim.