II.

As I gird on for fighting

My sword upon my thigh,

I think on old ill fortunes

Of better men than I.

Think I, the round world over,

What golden lads are low

With hurts not mine to mourn for

And shames I shall not know.

What evil luck soever

For me remains in store,

‘ Tis sure much finer fellows

Have fared much worse before.

So here are things to think on

That ought to make me brave,

As I strap on for fighting

My sword that will not save.