For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

How fares it with the happy dead?

Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold

The greater person is one of courtesy.

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.