Present Mirth Hath Present Laughter. What's To

Fight, Gentlemen Of England! Fight, Bold Yeomen! Draw, Archers, Draw Your Arrows To The Head! Spur Your Proud Horses Hard, And Ride In Blood; Amaze The Welkin With Your Broken Staves!

Dissembling Harlot, Thou Art False In All!

I Never Yet Did Hear, That The Bruis'd Heart Was Pierced Through The Ear

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

God Is Our Fortress, In Whose Conquering Name Let Us Resolve To Scale Their Flinty Bulwarks.