That shrewd and practised soldiers will declare
That victory to be of most repute,
Which yields with least of blood the most of fruit.
What glory more exalted can we know,
Within the range of war affairs, I mean,
Than thus to conquer and subdue the foe,
Nor let our naked weapons once be seen?
For when the blood of friends is forced to flow,
To gain a triumph when the fight is keen,
I wot the pleasure is not half so high