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I hold it, with a true and loyal heart.
But for the crown—when did I ask for it?
Who says that I would have it? Not one hair
Of all these hairs grown white in England's service
Would I exchange for all the golden toys
Of all the kings on earth. Take it away!
Remove that bauble—of all vanities
The most ridiculous! Stay not until
I trample all these follies 'neath my feet!
How ill they know me, disingenuous friends
Who dare to outrage me by crowning me!
From God I have far more than they can give—
Irrevocable grace; and of myself
I am the master. Once a son of Heaven,
Can one cease so to be? The universe
Is envious of our prosperity.
What are my needs beyond the good of all?
This is the chosen people. Of this isle
Europe's the humble, suppliant satellite.
All nations to our star submission yield;
The impious are accurst. It is as if
The Lord had said: "England, grow great and strong,
And be my eldest daughter, for my hands
Have crowned thee queen among the nations all;
So be my well-beloved, walk beside me."—
His blessings in abundance he doth shower
Upon us, and each day that dawns, each day
That ends, adds one more ring to th' endless chain,
'Twould seem that God, who doth the Philistines
With fear and awe inspire, our destinies
Hath, like a craftsman, carved and moulded for us;
And that his arm hath welded all the parts
Of this vast edifice upon an axis
That time cannot destroy; mysterious work,