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Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
He won't, won't he? Then bring me my boots.
He won't, won't he? Then bring me my boots.
Shows that we build, when we should but entomb us.
Shows that we build, when we should but entomb us.
He claims a monopoly in friendship.
He claims a monopoly in friendship.
Some falls the means are happier to rise.
Some falls the means are happier to rise.
For emulation hath a thousand sons
That one by one pursue.
For emulation hath a thousand sons
That one by one pursue.
Virtue may be cheerful without forgetting its dignity.
Virtue may be cheerful without forgetting its dignity.
With customes wee live well, but Lawes undoe us.
With customes wee live well, but Lawes undoe us.
