O friend, if keeping back might age keep back
from us, and death, and out from harried toils
of mortal life our lives withdraw—if once
this war were done we ever deathless stood—
not half so brave a heart would beat in me,
to spear-game’s risks I would not spur you thus;
and yet that is not so. There lurk about
our selves a thousand death-ghasts parched in throat;
a thousand thousand kinds of death attend;
no woman quick and breathing ’scapes her end;
now let us try the day, and see if this
among our deaths, this spear-tip death in fray,
if this be ours, and either thus supply
to others fame, or from them wrest the same.

Anyway, don't be a warrior-aristocrat. It's bad!