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All that one can see is, face to face,
intrepid squadrons bent on making war, bloody fluids staining the green earth, and everyone pursuing honour's game; this is the lovely sound that all can hear: "For Spain, Saint James, close ranks, attack, attack! And as a pleasing scent to foul the air, sulphur smoke ignites with burning flame; one's taste, now compromised, seeks out unclean water, and touch can only grope and finds in bloodied steel a trophy hard as stone, splintered bone, within it rotted flesh, mangled armour, torn-up coats of mail: oh, noble state, worthy of men alone! Francisco de Aldana 1532 - 1578 (© Alix Ingber, 1995) |
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