When Britain first, at Heaven’s command Arose from out the azure main; This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sang this strain: "Rule, Britannia! rule the waves: «Britons never will be slaves.» 2
Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful, from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies, Serves but to root thy native oak. "Rule, Britannia! rule the waves: «Britons never will be slaves.» 4
Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame: All their attempts to bend thee down, Will but arouse thy generous flame; But work their woe, and thy renown. "Rule, Britannia! rule the waves: «Britons never will be slaves.» 6
The Muses, still with freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair; Blest Isle! With matchless beauty crown’d, And manly hearts to guard the fair. "Rule, Britannia! rule the waves: «Britons never will be slaves.»