Rule, Britannia! (With Variations)

When Britain first, at heaven's command,

  Arose from out the azure main;

This was the charter of the land,

  And guardian Angels sung this strain:

      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;

      Britons never will be slaves.

The nations, not so blest as thee,

  Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:

While thou shalt flourish great and free,

  The dread and envy of them all.

      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;

      Britons never will be slaves.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

  More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:

As the loud blast that tears the skies,

  Serves but to root thy native oak.

      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;

      Britons never will be slaves.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:

  All their attempts to bend thee down,

Will but arouse thy generous flame;

  But work their woe, and thy renown.

      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;

      Britons never will be slaves.

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.

      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;

      Britons never will be slaves.

The Muses, still with freedom found,

  Shall to thy happy coast repair:

Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned,

  And manly hearts to guard the fair.

      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;

      Britons never will be slaves.

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