3.
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! &c.
4.
Thee, haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy gen'rous flame,
To work their woe, and thy renown.
Rule, Britannia! &c.
5.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine, shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles, thine.
Rule, Britannia! &c.
5.
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.
