Through many a fair countée;
“Yet England’s church, its king, its laws,
Its cause, I value not,
Compar’d with this, my constant text,
A penny sav’d, is got.
“No drop of princely Percy’s blood
Through these cold veins doth run;
With Hotspur’s castles, blazon, name,
I still am poor Smithson.
“Let England’s youth unite in arms,