Honor is like a widow, won With brisk attempt and putting on.

If he that in the field is slain Be in the bed of honour lain, He that is beaten may be said To lie in Honour's truckle-bed.

As quick as lightning, in the breach Just in the place where honour's lodged, As wise philosophers have judged, Because a kick in that place more Hurts honour than deep wounds before.

Now, while the honour thou hast got Is spick and span new.

Quoth Hudibras, I smell a rat; Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate.

For now the field is not far off Where we must give the world a proof Of deeds, not words.