It Behooves A Father To Be Blameless

The Skin Of The Coward Changes Color All The Time, He Can't Get A Grip On Himself, He Can't Sit Still, He Squats And Rocks, Shifting His Weight From Foot To Foot, His Heart Racing, Pounding Inside The Fellow's Ribs, His Teeth Chattering. He Dreads Some Grisly Death. But The Skin Of A Brave Soldier Never Blanches. He's All Control. Tense But No Great Fear.

The Man Does Better Who Runs From Disaster Than He Who Is Caught By It.

And By The Sacred Parchment, I Swear That If I Reveal The Secrets Of The Stonecutters, May My Stomach Become Bloated And My Head Be Plucked Of All But Three Hairs

Toil Is The Lot Of All, And Bitter Woe The Fate Of Many.

Without A Sign, His Sword The Brave Man Draws, And Asks No Omen, But His Country's Cause.