Luyện nghe bài hát Rule Britannia

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, the waves!
Britons never, never, shall be slaves.

When Britain first, at command,
Arose from out the main,
This was the of the land,
And Guardian Angels this strain:

The nations not so as thee
Must, in turn, to tyrants fall,
While thou shalt great and free:
The and envy of them all.

Still more majestic thou rise,
dreadful from each foreign stroke,
As the loud blast that the skies
Serves but to thy native oak.

Thee tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their to bend thee down
Will but thy generous flame,
But work woe and thy renown.

To thee the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce
All thine shall be the main,
And every it circles, thine.

The Muses, with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy repair.
Blest isle! with matchless crowned,
And hearts to guard the fair.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, the waves!
Britons never, never, never be slaves.