Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland

Beasts of every land and clime

Hearken to my joyful tidings

Of the golden future time

Soon or late the day is coming

Tyrant Man shall be overthrown

And the fruitful fields of England

Shall be trod by beasts alone

Rings shall vanish from our noses

And the harness from our back

Bit and spur shall rust forever

Cruel whips no more shall crack