James Thomson, 1740 (1700-1748)
When Britain first— at heaven's command
Arose— from out the azure main
Arose, arose, arose from out the azure main
This was the charter,
The charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain:
Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves,
Britons never never never shall be slaves.
The nations, not— so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
Must in, must in, must in their turns to tyrants fall.
While thou shalt flourish,
Shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:
More dreadful, dreadful, dreadful from each foreign stroke.
As the loud blast,
The blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
All their, all their, all their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy,
Arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities— shall with commerce shine:
Thy cities, cities, cities shall with commerce shine
All thine shall be the,
Shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to— thy happy coast repair:
Shall to, shall to, shall to thy happy coast repair
Blest isle! with matchless,
With matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.