It Never Was Our Guise To Slight

Now From The Smooth Deep Ocean-stream The Sun Began To Climb The Heavens, And With New Rays Smote The Surrounding Fields.

You, Why Are You So Afraid Of War And Slaughter? Even If All The Rest Of Us Drop And Die Around You, Grappling For The Ships, You’d Run No Risk Of Death: You Lack The Heart To Last It Out In Combat—coward!

I'm Like That Guy Who Single-handedly Built The Rocket And Flew To The Moon. What Was His Name? Apollo Creed?

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

The Natural Thing, My Lord, Men And Women Joined.