This royal throne of kings, this sceptered 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 prescious 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...---William Shakespeare. Richard II. Act II, Scene 2.
Beauty, Lance.
Posted by: The Heretik | Thursday, July 07, 2005 at 07:57 PM
Nicely put. Brings to mind, "if a man tires of London, he tires of life."
Posted by: NJ Guy | Saturday, November 08, 2008 at 10:21 PM