Death, Not Romeo, Take My

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

To Say The Truth, So Judas Kissed His Master And Cried, 'all Hail!' When As He Meant All Harm.

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.

It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give Fair Words.

Advance Our Standards, Set Upon Our Foes; Our Ancient Word Of Courage, Fair Saint George, Inspire Us With The Spleen Of Fiery Dragons!