Let Us Be Diana's Foresters,

Mind Your Speech A Little Lest You Should Mar Your Fortunes.

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.

Right Joyous Are We To Behold Your Face, Most Worthy Brother England; Fairly Met!

I Have Seen The Day Of Wrong Through The Little Hole Of Discretion, And I Will Right Myself Like A Soldier.

Set We Forward; Let A Roman And A British Ensign Wave Friendly Together. So Through Lud's Town March, And In The Temple Of The Great Jupiter Our Peace We'll Ratify, Seal It With Feasts. Set On There! Never Was A War Did Cease, Ere Bloody Hands Were Washed, With Such A Peace.