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Martin Robertson

Now and Then

Two Songs of a Mercenary
from Archilochus

1

The spear is my rough wine, as it is my bread,

and even when I’m drinking my spear is ready.

2

My shield (not its fault) is making some tribesman’s day,

picked from the bush in which I threw it away.

I didn’t want to, but I saved my skin.  Good-bye

that shield.  I shall get one no worse quite easily.