Stand Not Upon Your Order

	Stand not upon your order

For twice ten centuries this sceptred isle,
  From Caesar to William, and William once more,
Has marked the fortunes of its family Royal,
  Through plague and plot and gory war.

There's been many a usurping line,
  Written in a bright, bloody red,
By those who sought the Right Divine,
  Saw its prize upon their head.

Traitors, maybe, murderers, of course,
  The Crown would take them all,
The nuptial bed, the invading force,
  The sovereign seat would fall.

Churches they created, countries they cast.
  Some corrupted to the core.
Lands were subjugated, empires made fast.
  But no pictures in the raw!

Now there's but a shadow's shadow,
  Nothing real in the royal yoke.
Poor child of those from long ago,
  We kept the Ivy, lost the Oak.

Subtracting power, there needs be grace,
  Else the welcome's wearing thin,
Those that remain, the throne abase,
  Quick become the leech's kin.

How to rule, they have not a clue,
  Nor a need to know.
They must claim from us this due:
  They knew when to go.

"Of course not I!", says each in turn,
  "Surely another should be first!"
None rush out, their living to earn,
  "Bad maybe, but I'm not the worst!"

Now down the years hear it roaring,
  The Queenly response:
"Stand not upon the order of your going
  But go at once !"