“PatriotismBreathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native land!' Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd As home his footsteps he hath turn'dFrom wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung,Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.”

“The wretch, concentred all in self,Living, shall forfeit fair renown,And, doubly dying, shall go downTo the vile dust, from whence he sprung,Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.”

“Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.”

“Blessed be his name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit.”

“he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”

“Albert GraemeIt was an English ladye bright,(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall)And she would marry a Scottish knight,For Love will still be lord of all.Blithely they saw the rising sunWhen he shone fair on Carlisle wall;But they were sad ere day was done,Though Love was still the lord of all.Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;Her brother gave but a flask of wine,For ire that Love was lord of all.For she had lands both meadow and lea,Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,For he swore her death, ere he would seeA Scottish knight the lord of all.That wine she had not tasted well(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall)When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell,For Love was still the lord of all!He pierced her brother to the heart,Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,So perish all would true love partThat Love may still be lord of all!And then he took the cross divine,Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,And died for her sake in Palestine;So Love was still the lord of all.Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove,(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall)Pray for their souls who died for love,For Love shall still be lord of all!-- Canto 6”

“My true-love hath my heart and I have his,By just exchange one for the other given:I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;There never was a bargain better driven.His heart in me keeps me and him in one;My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:He loves my heart, for once it was his own;I cherish his because in me it bides.His heart his wound received from my sight;My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;For as from me on him his hurt did light,So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart:Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,My true-love hath my heart and I have his.”