Here's to France, the moon whose magic rays move the tides of the world.

Our country, however bounded.

Here's to Great Britain, the sun that gives light to all nations of the world.

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction. Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child with her cloth, cover thou him.

In the day, do the day's work.

The tongue of a man is his sword and effective speech is stronger than all fighting.