Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renew’d
Bankrupt a nation’s gratitude,
To thine own noble heart must owe
More than the meed she can bestow.
For not a people’s just acclaim,
Not the full hail of Europe’s fame,
Thy prince’s smiles, thy state’s decree,
The ducal rank, the garter’d knee,
Not these such pure delight afford
As that, when, hanging up thy sword,
Well may’st thou think, “This honest steel
Was ever drawn for public weal;
And, such was rightful Heaven’s decree,
Ne’er sheathed unless with victory!”