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If fortune choose to trip you,
In any way she can, If she of all else strip you,
She leaves you still a man; Your heart she is but trying ;
You'll soon have better luck ; Fight on, on that relying ;
Life's prizes fall to pluck.
Without it, man's a looby,
Unfit, through storms, to steer; A shadow shakes the booby;
He can't feel joy, for fear; His tongue don't dare to speak out,
Asa plucky fellow's can; Some shuffle it will squeak out,
That wouldn't suit a man ; Truth's plume and the white feather
Never in one cap are stuck; Lies and fears still live together,
So I go for truth and pluck.
And if, for landsmen, meekness, And women's nerves won't do,
My lads, it's certain, weakness, And whining won't suit you;