I have a high art: I hurt with cruelty those who would wound me. - Archilochus of Paros

Go take your cup and walk along the timber deck
Of our roaming ship; drain the hollow casks
Of all their red wine. How can we stay sober
on the watch when all the rest are drunk?

I have a high art: I hurt with cruelty those who wound me.

Let who will boast their courage in the field,
I find but little safety from my shield.
Nature's, not honour's, law we must obey:
This made me cast my useless shield away,
And by a prudent flight and cunning save
A life, which valour could not, from the grave.
A better buckler I can soon regain;
But who can get another life again?