Few Sons Are Equal To Their Fathers;

How Prone To Doubt, How Cautious Are The Wise!

Men Grow Tired Of Sleep, Love, Singing And Dancing Sooner Than Of War.

The Life, Which Others Pay, Let Us Bestow, And Give To Fame What We To Nature Owe.

Still, We Will Let All This Be A Thing Of The Past, Though It Hurts Us, And Beat Down By Constraint The Anger That Rises Inside Us. Now I Am Making An End Of My Anger. It Does Not Become Me, Unrelentingly To Rage On

Take Thou Thy Arms And Come With Me, For We Must Quit Ourselves Like Men, And Strive To Air Our Cause, Although We Be But Two. Great Is The Strength Of Feeble Arms Combined, And We Can Combat Even With The Brave.