1. The tents of Sa'd are pitched around me,
And spears of Malik rain upon me.

2. Yet they are not a people made to suffer shame;
But we have a mighty, ever-present lord.

3. How many a chief have our spears subdued!
How many a king have we crowned victorious!

4. You who, when you meet a king, fear his wrath—
You have none but your women to aid you.

5. If you make peace, a viper seizes your head;
If you take refuge in a cleft, my pickaxes meet you.

6. Do you ask me to abate the battle, after
My wrath is roused and warriors' steeds surround me?

7. Hizbar whom the lion flees when he springs—
He has a lair travelers avoid.

8. When the eye sees him its color changes;
At the sight of him the courses quiver.

9. And when the steeds drag their leaden feet,
When warriors' swords flash at their wielders' sides,

10. We launch the white-flanked mares above our heads,
Each seasoned warrior his ready blade unsheathing.

11. Behind the host a band of heroes follows us,
Honored ones, their courage fire when the cauldrons blaze.

12. Had you true honor or a touchy pride,
You had fled, but base women bore you.