Chapter 3 of 85 · 56 words · ~1 min read

III.

Let France in savage accents sing Her bloody Revolution; We prize our country, love our king, Adore our constitution; For these we’ll every danger face, And quit our rustic labours; Our ploughs to firelocks shall give place; Our scythes be changed to sabres; And clad in arms, our song shall be, “O give us Death—or Victory!”