O here is no repining,
Every heart is true and steady;
Here is no declining,
Still for England's service ready;
Here is not a tear shed
Such a weakness we disdain it;
Here is not a bowed head,
Sign of sorrow, we refrain it;
The more the bloody tyrants bind us,
The more united they shall find us.

The Patriot on his cell-bed,
Can sleep an undisturbed sleep;
The Pander on his hell-bed
Kay curse, and groan, and madly weep,
When daylight dimly breaketh
In stony cell, through bars on high,
And innocence awaketh,
It looketh with a thankful eye.
Though Justice dash her scales away,
Shall murder fearless front the day?