Now All The Youth Of England Are

Your Worm Is Your Only Emperor For Diet; We Fat All Creatures Else To Fat Us, And We Fat Ourselves For Maggots.

This Royal Throne Of Kings, This Sceptered Isle, This Earth Of Majesty, This Seat Of Mars, This Other Eden, Demi-paradise, This Fortress Built By Nature For Herself Against Infection And The Hand Of War, This Happy Breed Of Men, This Little World, This Precious Stone Set In The Silver Sea, Which Serves It In The Office Of A Wall Or As A Moat Defensive To A House, Against The Envy Of Less Happier Lands,--this Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

Remembrance Of Things Past.

Be Not Thy Tongue Thy Own Shame's Orator.

Small Things Make Base Men Proud.