This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,


(it might be a load of old tosh but no other country has stuff like this!)

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd r age;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

(Brings tears to my eyes whenever I read it.)

There will be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover.

Shakespeare is brilliant!!!

we're all good pals together

Allons enfants de la Patrie, Come, children of the Fatherland (Homeland),
Le jour de gloire est arrivé ! The day of glory has arrived!
Contre nous de la tyrannie Against us, Tyranny's
L'étendard sanglant est levé, (bis) Bloody banner is raised, (repeat)
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes Do you hear in the countryside
Mugir ces féroces soldats ? Those ferocious soldiers roaring?
Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras They come up to our arms
Égorger nos fils, nos compagnes ! To slit the throats of our sons and wives!

Aux armes, citoyens, To arms, citizens,
Formez vos bataillons, Form your battalions,
Marchons, marchons ! Let's march, let's march!
Qu'un sang impur May an impure blood
Abreuve nos sillons ! Water our furrows!

Que veut cette horde d'esclaves, What does this horde of slaves,
De traîtres, de rois conjurés ? Of traitors and conjured kings want?
Pour qui ces ignobles entraves, For whom are these ignoble trammels,
Ces fers dès longtemps préparés ? (bis) These long-prepared irons? (repeat)
Français, pour nous, ah ! quel outrage Frenchmen, for us, ah! What outrage
Quels transports il doit exciter ! What fury it must arouse!
C'est nous qu'on ose méditer It is we whom they dare plan
De rendre à l'antique esclavage ! To return to ancient slavery!

Aux armes, citoyens... To arms, citizens...

Quoi ! des cohortes étrangères What! Foreign cohorts
Feraient la loi dans nos foyers ! Would make law in our homes!
Quoi ! ces phalanges mercenaires What! These mercenary phalanxes

Etc...

Other countries DO have stuff like this. And a lot worse.

Now I'm British and English through and through, but the French have one of the other most inspiring national anthems in the world.

You have to hear it to get it's full impact:

Can't you be French?



Please?

I may not have been alive before Flanders and Swann were popular, but Armstrong and Miller do a couple of good parodies of their songs.

The best verse in that song is the Irish verse - the line about blowing up policemen and blaming it on Cromwell is the best line out of the song.

You're a divvy.

Not just the patron saint of England

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_George

Interesting stuff

Happy St. Georges Day to you all. Going out for a drink soon.

I've bought myself a book for st georges day

1000 yrs of annoying the French

I've spotted that book in Waterstones as well.

Not to keen on the french ,they sprayed me and a few mates with gas in the cells at Dieppe police station . our crime? ..Singing too loud..

POK,you are barmier than Mr Barmpot of Barmytown
Please dont ever leave us,the net would be boring without you

"You have to hear it to get it's full impact:"

Ha ha ha what a statement to make

Well of course you do, its a song.