Three Kipling songs

      (Magna Charta, June 15, 1215)
At Runnymede, at Runnymede
What say the reeds at Runnymede?
The lissom reeds that give and take,
That bend so far, but never break,
They keep the sleepy Thames awake
With tales of John at Runnymede.

At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Oh, hear the reeds at Runnymede: -- 
"You mustn't sell, delay, deny,
A freeman's right or liberty.
It makes the stubborn Englishry,
We saw 'em roused at Runnymede!

"When through our ranks the Barons came,
With little thought of praise or blame,
But resolute to pay a game,
They lumbered up to Runnymede;
And there they launched in solid time
The first attack on Right Divine -- 
The curt, uncompromising 'Sign!'
That settled John at Runnymede.

"At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Your rights were won at Runnymede!
No freeman shall be fined or bound,
Or dispossessed of freehold ground,
Except by lawful judgment found
And passed upon him by his peers.
Forget not, after all these years,
The Charter Signed at Runnymede."

And still when Mob or Monarch lays
Too rude a hand on English ways,
The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,
Across the reeds at Runnymede.
And Thames, that knows the moods of kings,
And crowds and priests and suchlike things,
Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings
Their warning down from Runnymede!

The Fifteenth Century

At two o'clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen,
    You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun. 
And the trees in the shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten,
    And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done.

So do the cows in the field. They graze for an hour and lie down,
    Dozing and chewing the cud; or a bird in the ivy wakes, 
Chirrups one note and is still, and the restless Wind strays on,
    Fidgeting far down the road, till, softly, the darkness breaks.

Back comes the Wind full strength with a blow like an angel's wing,
    Gentle but waking the world, as he shouts: "The Sun! The Sun!" 
And the light floods over the fields and the birds begin to sing,
    And the Wind dies down in the grass. It is day and his work is done.

So when the world is asleep, and there seems no hope of her waking
    Out of some long, bad dream that makes her mutter and moan, 
Suddenly, all men arise to the noise of fetters breaking,
    And every one smiles at his neighbour and tells him his soul is his own! 

 Parliaments of Henry III, 1265

There are four good legs to my Father's Chair --
Priest and People and Lords and Crown.
I sits on all of 'em fair and square,
And that is the reason it don't break down.

I won't trust one leg, nor two, nor three,
To carry my weight when I sets me down.
I wants all four of 'em under me --
Priest and People and Lords and Crown.

I sits on all four and I favours none --
Priest, nor People, nor Lords, nor Crown:
And I never tilts in my chair, my son,
And that is the reason it don't break down.

When your time comes to sit in my Chair,
Remember your Father's habits and rules.
Sit on all four legs, fair and square,
And never be tempted by one-legged stools!