'tis Pride That Pulls The Country Down.

To Show Our Simple Skill, That Is The True Beginning Of Our End.

This England Never Did, Nor Never Shall, Lie At The Proud Foot Of A Conqueror, But When It First Did Help To Wound Itself. Now These Her Princes Are Come Home Again, Come The Three Corners Of The World In Arms, And We Shall Shock Them. Nought Shall Make Us Rue, If England To Itself Do Rest But True.

So Shows A Snowy Dove Trooping With Crows As Yonder Lady O'er Her Fellows Shows.

Infirm Of Purpose! Give Me The Daggers: The Sleeping And The Dead Are But As Pictures: ‘tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears A Painted Devil

His Heart As Far From Fraud As Heaven From Earth.