Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke;
As the last blast which tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak.
Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame,
And work their woe and thy renown.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine!
The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown’d,
And manly hearts to guard the fair:—
Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never shall be slaves!
James Thomson.
DYER
XX
DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN
Here’s a health to the King and a lasting peace,
To faction an end, to wealth increase!
Come, let’s drink it while we have breath,
For there’s no drinking after death;—
And he that will this health deny,
Down among the dead men—
Down among the dead men—
Down, down, down, down,
Down among the dead men let him lie!
John Dyer.