Then say; Britannia! that thy nobleness
Deigns thy asylum to thy foe's distress?
Say, this the Glory which thou lov'st to boast,
O'er meaner dwellers of each neighboring coast?
Contracted nation! thy contracted home,
A sterile rock round which the billows foam!
How well consorts it with thy dwarfish soul,
That owns no noble feeling's high control.
What glorious record holds the past of thee,
What single page from foul disgrace is free;