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

From Richard II, Act 2 (Shakespeare)


This hollow throne of kings, this septic isle,
This earth of tragedy, cold as Mars
This ruined Eden, this barren paradise
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Helpless against infection and the hand of man
This unhappy breed of men, who destroyed this little world
This trash bin set in the poisoned sea,
Which serves it in the office of a broken wall
Or as a bitter moat surrounding vacant shores
Once the envy of less happier lands,
This desert plot, this sterile earth, this empty realm, this England.
*
*
Cari.