The Fates Have Given Mankind A Patient

Close To The Gates A Spacious Garden Lies, From The Storms Defended And Inclement Skies; Four Acres Was The Allotted Space Of Ground, Fenc'd With A Green Enclosure All Around. Tall Thriving Trees Confessed The Fruitful Mold: The Reddening Apple Ripens Here To Gold, Here The Blue Fig With Luscious Juice Overflows, With Deeper Red The Full Pomegranate Glows, The Branch Here Bends Beneath The Weighty Pear, And Verdant Olives Flourish Round The Year.

The Leader, Mingling With The Vulgar Host, Is In The Common Mass Of Matter Lost.

It's Man's To Fight, But Heaven's To Give Success.

O Friends, Be Men, And Let Your Hearts Be Strong And Let No Warrior In The Heat Of Fight, Do What May Bring Him Shame In Others' Eyes

For Never, Never, Wicked Man Was Wise.