Hi.
There is a small request.
I want you to make VictoryMusic of a British army "Rule Britannia" when a British army is added.
VictoryMusic
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Moyasi
- Posts: 2
- Joined: 2006-05-21 06:36
This music.
http://www.cix.co.uk/~lumpkin/rulebrit.mp3
http://www.militarymusiconline.com/zips ... itania.zip
British's old patriotism songs.
http://www.cix.co.uk/~lumpkin/rulebrit.mp3
http://www.militarymusiconline.com/zips ... itania.zip
British's old patriotism songs.
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Top_Cat_AxJnAt
- Posts: 3215
- Joined: 2006-02-02 17:13
IT has to be - Rule Britannia, there si nothing more patriotic! Swelling hearts of all really British players!!!!! THere are 2 versions, one older one newer. THe below is the newer version.
When Britain first, at heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian Angels sung this strain:
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves.
The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
When Britain first, at heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian Angels sung this strain:
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves.
The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
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Malik
- Posts: 1676
- Joined: 2006-04-20 16:49



