As I gird on for fighting
As I gird on for fightingMy sword upon my thigh,I think on old ill fortunesOf better men than I.
Think I, the round world over,What golden lads are lowWith hurts not mine to mourn forAnd shames I shall not know.
What evil luck soeverFor me remains in store,'Tis sure much finer fellowsHave fared much worse before.
So here are things to think onThat ought to make me brave,As I strap on for fightingMy sword that will not save.
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