Virtus unita, valet
The surging Sea, doth salte, and sweete remaine,
And is preserv'de with working, to and froe:
And not corruptes, nor suffreth anie staine,
Whiles in his boundes, the same doth ebbe, and flowe:
But if it waste, and forth by sluses fall,
It soone corruptes, and hath no force at all.
The arrowes sharpe, that in one sheafe are bounde,
Are harde to breake, while they are joined sure,
But sever them, then feeble are they founde,
So where as love, and concorde, doth indure:
A little force, doth mightilie prevaile,
Where Princes powers, with hate and discorde quaile.