Courage and Strength

And proud his mistress’ orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm.

What pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country!

My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?

’Tis not in mortals to command success, But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it.

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Who would true valor see, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather. There’s no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first avow’d intent

I am not now in fortune’s power: He that is down can fall no lower.

Boast not of what thou would’st have done, but do What then thou would’st.

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchang’d To hoarse or mute, though fall’n on evil days, On evil days though fall’n, and evil tongues; In darkness, and with dangers compass’d round, And solitude.

Servant of God, well done, well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintained Against revolted multitudes the cause Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms.

Among the faithless, faithful only he.

Arm th’ obdur’d breast With stubborn patience as with triple steel.

With grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem’d A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat and public care; And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic though in ruin.

Rather than be less Car’d not to be at all.

Who overcomes By force hath overcome but half his foe.

Care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage.

Awake, arise, or be forever fallen!

What though the field be lost? All is not lost; th’ unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.

Yet I argue not Against Heav’n’s hand or will, nor bate one jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer Right onward.

Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity: She that has that, is clad in complete steel.

I have done one braver thing Than all the Worthies did; And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is, to keep that hid.

I wear not My dagger in my mouth.

If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there, That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I Flutter’d your Volscians in Corioli: Alone I did it.

Let’s do it after the high Roman fashion, And make death proud to take us.