I say to her, as the champions scatter like sparks—
“Woe to you! Do not quake with fear.
For even if you begged for a single day’s reprieve
beyond the term allotted to you, your plea would not be heard.

So be steadfast—steadfast upon the field of death;
for the prize of immortality is beyond reach. (1)

The cloak of mere life is no robe of honor
that the lance should be folded away from the craven.

The path of death is the final end of every living soul,
and its herald calls out to the people of the earth.

Whoever is not struck down will simply grow weary and old,
and fate will hand him over to utter extinction.

There is no goodness in a man’s life
once he is counted among the worthless cast-offs.

Reflect on this in the theatres of war (2):
those who are slain while fleeing are more numerous than those who—