This Sceptic Aisle

I dained that I'd distress the Dutch, Refrain the French with such - and - such. 'Gainst Germans I'd my victory forge, Churchillian chants in Cheddar Gorge. Send Poles packing from our building site, Put the Belgians - bang - too right! Sink Spain's Armada with her men, Stop the invaders once again. To close the ports to Portuguese, Then finish off the Finnish line, Destroy our own industries, To beggar these children of mine. 'I'll be be no widow', was my boast, From lake to lake and moor to moor, My chalky skirts from coast to coast, Will far-off suitors draw. I'd host a jolly jamboree, With Cornish scones, Welsh jam and tea. I'd have no wish for crepes with brie, They are no longer - well - tax free. I'm Proud Olde Blighty, A pauperess, A Damsel - mightily - In distress. It seems that only yesterday, We strolled together down the aisle, Rolled like lovers making hay, Marrying metres up with miles. Farewell my groom - crowned with stars, Your night-blue apparel disappears, My red, white and blue crossed flags, England's lion has torn to rags. 'I'll be no widow', was my boast, Yet o'er my coasts soon swept my doom. A cave my castle underground, Economy entombed. Whited by a skirt of chalk, My heart sepulchered by the shore, My epitaph - a pity be, 'Nostalgia No More'. My epitaph - a pity be, 'Nostalgia No More'.