Spare not the unarmed woman.
Out of pity, out of mercy.
For though she doth protest and weep,
she strikes swiftly, wounds fest deeply,
with two swords borne unbidden.

Their names are craven and veiled:
Left self "Righteous", Right false "Honour"
Their names belie truth creeping,
a wicker shield, paper armour,
cleaved in twain once unhidden.

Spare not the unarmed woman.
For she bares blades biting back,
On a high horse oft ridden.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Aeguary, in the year 797 AF.