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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,