On a rock Britannia stood,
And thus her warlike sons address'd;
''Shall a despot stain'd with blood,
Warriors brave and free molest?
No! rise to arms, and scorn the vengeful host;
Death waits the foe who dares approach our coast.

''Hark! I hear the mighty dead,
Cressy's fierce and godlike band--''
''By your sires who boldly bled,
Swear to save your native land;
On, on to conquest! glory crowns the brave,
Crush Gallia's tyrant who'd the world enslave!''

''Matchless on the lists of fame,
Vict'ry wreathes the Briton's brow;
Nor shall they who boast the name
To a foreign tyrant bow;
For while his wrath on servile states is hurl'd,
Britain shall rise the envy of the world.''