Lyrics:
When Britain first, at Heaven's command
Arose from out the azure main;
Arose, arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter, the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain:
chorus:
“Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:
Britons never will be slaves.
Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves:
Britons never will be slaves.”
The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must in their turns, to tyrants fall;
Must, 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, more dreadful, from each foreign stroke;
As the loud blast, loud 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, 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, thy cities shall with commerce shine:
Thy, thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be, shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Shall, shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest Isle! With matchless, with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
