Ten Thousand Casks, Forever Dribbling Out Their

I Pity Them Greatly, But I Must Be Mum, For How Could We Do Without Sugar And Rum?

Lights Of The World, And Stars Of Human Race.

But War's A Game, Which, Were Their Subjects Wise, Kings Should Not Play At. Nations Would Do Well To Extort Their Truncheons From The Puny Hands Of Heroes, Whose Infirm And Baby Minds Are Gratified With Mischief, And Who Spoil, Because Men Suffer It, Their Toy The World.

England, With All Thy Faults I Love Thee Still, My Country!

The Man That Dares Traduce, Because He Can With Safety To Himself, Is Not A Man.