Once more

The child of a friend says her mother reads every story. We’ll see. I haven’t learned it yet, but I’m starting. If Lance were alive, I’d learn it for him too.

1This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,

2This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

3This other Eden, demi-paradise,

4This fortress built by Nature for her self

5Against infection and the hand of war,

6This happy breed of men, this little world,

7This precious stone set in a silver sea

8Which serves it in the office of a wall

9Or as a moat defensive to a house,

10Against the envy of less happier lands,

11This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,

12This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

13Feared by their breed and famous for their birth,

14Renownèd for their deeds as far from home

15For Christian service and true chivalry

16As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry

17Of the world’s ransom, blessèd Mary’s son.

18This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,

19Dear for her reputation through the world,

20Is now leased out - I die pronouncing it -

21Like to a tenement or pelting farm.

22England, bound in with the triumphant sea,

23Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege

24Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,

25With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds.

26That England that was wont to conquer others

27Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.