Britons, Alert! The Last Chorus of the Brexiteers?

When empires rise and crumble...

Samuel Daniel, from Musophilus, 1599

And who, in time, knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores
This gain of our best glory shall be sent,
T'enrich unknowing nations with our stores?
What worlds in th'yet unformed Occident
May come refined with th'accents that are ours?

H. A. Acworth, from the libretto of Elgar's cantata Caractacus, Scene VI (1897, first performed 1898):

Claudius

                By the Gods they shall not die;

Their blood would curse the ground to which it grew.

We grant you grace; young warrior, clasp thy bride;

    Brave chieftain, all thy suff’rings are o’er;

Dwell here in Rome, and by the Emperor’s side

    Find safety, peace and rest for evermore...

Eigen, Orbin, Caractacus

Grace from the Roman! peace and rest are ours,

  Freedom is lost, but peace and rest remain;

Britain, farewell! Thro’ all the ling’ring hours,

  Hope, mem’ry, love shall hide our golden chain.

Chorus

The clang of arms is over,

  Abide in peace, and brood

On glorious ages coming,

  And Kings of British blood.

The light descends from heaven,

  The centuries roll away,

The Empire of the Roman

  Is crumbled into clay;

The eagle’s flight is ended,

  His weary wings are furl’d;

The oak has grown and shadow’d

  The shores of all the world:

Britons, alert! and fear not,

  Though round your path of pow’r,

Opposing cohorts gather;

  And jealous tyrants low’r;

On- though the world desert you

  On – so you cause be right;

Britons, alert! and fear not,

  But gird your loins for fight.

And ever your dominion

  From age to age shall grow

O’er peoples undiscover’d,

  In lands we cannot know;

And where the flag of Britain

  Its triple crosses rears,

No slave shall be for subject,

  No trophy wet with tears,

But folk shall bless the banner,

 And bless the crosses twin’d,

That bear the gift of freedom,

  On ev’ry blowing wind;

Nor shall her might diminish

  While firm she holds the faith

Of equal law to all men

  And holds it to the death;

For all the world shall learn it

  Though long the task shall be,

The text of Britain’s teaching,

  The message of the free;

And when at last they find it,

  The nations all shall stand

And hymn the praise of Britain,

  Like brothers, hand in hand.

Woodland Interlude from 'Caractacus' by Sir Edward Elgar

Edward Elgar : Caractacus, Triumphal March from the cantata Op. 35 (1897-98)

About Caratacus (Wikipedia)

Caractacus pleads with the Emperor in Rome

 (no, that's not the new British Prime Minister pleading for grace from 'Imperial" Brussels...)

Johnson defends Brexit plan, BBC Interview