And take no vantage of the fallen foe
In land (which is but dust) and sordid treasure?
But rather of her kindness yield
The balm whereby hurt wounds are healed,
That couchant in the selfsame field
Lion and lamb may masticate at leisure.
Let it be written in the terms of peace,
And evermore on brassy tablets graven,
That England shall demand no right nor lease
Of frontier nor of town, nor armoured haven,