Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail,
Our lion now will foreign foes assail.

Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail,
Our lion now will foreign foes assail.

In England three are sixty different religions, and only one
sauce.
[It., Il y en Angleterre soizante sectes read more

In England three are sixty different religions, and only one
sauce.
[It., Il y en Angleterre soizante sectes religieuses differentes,
et une seule sauce.]

England! my country, great and free!
Heart of the world, I leap to thee!

England! my country, great and free!
Heart of the world, I leap to thee!

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
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If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
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Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf,
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England--now.

Where are the rough brave Britons to be found
With Hearts of Oak, so much of old renowned?

Where are the rough brave Britons to be found
With Hearts of Oak, so much of old renowned?

England with all thy faults, I love thee still--
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
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England with all thy faults, I love thee still--
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrained to love thee.

Be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.

Be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.

Britannia needs no bulwarks
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain wave,
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Britannia needs no bulwarks
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain wave,
Her home is on the deep.