Britain thus I under the Hamlets’ Sun

Dead Bronze bears its heavy stride - and for Her he carries forth our emblems Eden's glow.

Evenly gallant, and far beyond perceived. We are our own Depiction.

Yet still, on our sleeping Isles, for the flourish of Majesty. He would die.

To let humble heads hang sweet once more.

To Bow upon with worn eyes: for what more is Heaven than Demise.

Not thrived at with farewells, but Sins lead by Chapels Kingdoms wish.

For this, leas Shines over the Golden seas

- bless't onward to our Resting shrine

Once gazed, once fraught; unsung under a Spangled bliss.

And our Death will be the archaic offering: "O' of course, for this you are missed."

Then was armour worn by the boy, and forth, etched his lies on fatherless Sons, as truth.