42 Of course, a coward can spring of royal blood, Soft inside, his surface a hard shine. No one is released from human ties Or finds no reasons to reproach himself Until he does his work, bravely and well A walker on the noble way of duty. Men who consider do not give a hang Whether they win or lose by what they do. They work on, doing what they must Never dreaming their lives a purse to guard. Pull your powers together, and then strike. The immortals wait you, even if you fail. To know exactly what to do in life What other reason can danger give to living? Impotent thing, all your offerings, Good works, your noble name, all wiped away, Even the ground for earthly pleasure gone — What reason can you give for living? Even a fallen soldier, as he falls, Can bring the enemy down — striking the thighs; Despair is inadmissable even If earth should suddenly sink below. Like a great bull, he should haul the axle out, Remembering the value of his blood. Be brave, proud, remember who you are, Lift up your family when you lift yourself, This family which falls with your fall. That fighting man whose warlike actions people, Marvelling, do not pass from mouth to mouth Is merely another grain on the great heap, No woman even, not to mention man. That man who is not famous for his gifts, His self-denying acts, his bravery, Excellence of mind, or his rich possessions, Only can be his mothers excrement. This makes a man, and nothing else -- those acts Which gather glory in, whether theyTre done By knowledge or an icy discipline, Or arms splendidly bearing out their valor.