Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close up the Circle with our City dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As Holderness and Anlaby:
But when the blast of "score" blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the Taff's a terrible aspect;
Let's pry through the cortege of Mackay
Like Amber cannon; let the Bruce o'erwhelm it
As Abdulaye is our defensive rock
Hassle and Harry their confounded base,
Toss'd to the wild and wasteful Humber.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest Tigers.
Whose blood is fet from Barmby and Windass!
Legend's that, like so many Stratton-Carters,
Have in these parts from three o'clock fought
And sheathed their boots for lack of contract:
Dishonour not your City; now attest
That those whom you call'd fans did beget you.
Be copy now to men of Watford blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good brethren,
Whose limbs were made in Kingston, show us here
The fettle of your passing; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not promotion in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds at Boulevard
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry "HULL" for Assem, Yorkshire, and Sir Tom!
Or close up the Circle with our City dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As Holderness and Anlaby:
But when the blast of "score" blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the Taff's a terrible aspect;
Let's pry through the cortege of Mackay
Like Amber cannon; let the Bruce o'erwhelm it
As Abdulaye is our defensive rock
Hassle and Harry their confounded base,
Toss'd to the wild and wasteful Humber.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest Tigers.
Whose blood is fet from Barmby and Windass!
Legend's that, like so many Stratton-Carters,
Have in these parts from three o'clock fought
And sheathed their boots for lack of contract:
Dishonour not your City; now attest
That those whom you call'd fans did beget you.
Be copy now to men of Watford blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good brethren,
Whose limbs were made in Kingston, show us here
The fettle of your passing; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not promotion in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds at Boulevard
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry "HULL" for Assem, Yorkshire, and Sir Tom!