Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!

If yee would know a knave, give him a staffe.

If yee would know a knave, give him a staffe.

He who injures one man threatens many.

He who injures one man threatens many.

Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,
And sweet reluctant amorous delay.

Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,
And sweet reluctant amorous delay.

Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause
Its source one tyrant passion draws,
Till mastering all within.

Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause
Its source one tyrant passion draws,
Till mastering all within.

For man is man, and master of his fate.

For man is man, and master of his fate.

Here's metal more attractive.

Here's metal more attractive.

Those griefs burn most which gall in secret.

Those griefs burn most which gall in secret.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it doth singe yourself.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it doth singe yourself.