Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another ;

Rise like Lions after slumber
ln unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many _ they are few.

Let a great Assembly be
Of the fearless and the free
On some spot of English ground
Where the plains stretch wide around.

Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters ot the dispute,

The old laws of England - they
Whose reverend heads with age are gray,
Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own ech - Liberty !

From Shelley's "Mask of Anarchy," which was
written to commemmorate Peterloo