Come, Lady, Die To Live.

We May Outrun By Violent Swiftness And Lose By Over-running.

Praise Us As We Are Tasted, Allow Us As We Prove.

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.

Call Me What Instrument You Will, Though You Can Fret Me, You Cannot Play Upon Me.

I Thank You All And Here Dismiss You All, And To The Love And Favor Of My Country Commit Myself, My Person, And The Cause.