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You shall give the foeman all his due, And let him win if he can; But keep all rights that belong to you, For that is the law of man. You shall hold the ground that is yours by right, And yield not a foot you have trod. But grant his right in a stand-up fight, For that is the law of God.

If you row with the crew in the boat, It's a wretched thing to spy. There's plenty of work when you leave the float, But little to do for the eye. There's plenty to do to swing and slide, And steady the fragile shell; But to gain your strength from the other side Is a method sent from hell.

No man shall yield on the foot ball field Till the final whistle sounds. No man shall show by a single blow That he has no place on the grounds. But when the foe is in racking pain And cannot move or fight, You shall help him up to his feet again, And chafe his bruise and bind his strain, To show the make of your own good grain, For that is fair and right.

The strength of the team, or nine, or crew Is not the strength of the "star." 'Tis what the body together can do That carries the victory far. So you shall give your mite to the rest To bring the whole team through, And then at the time of your single test They shall give their strength to you.

And these are the laws of the athlete, You can heed them or not, as you like, But they make the code of the runner fleet, And they check a man when he'd strike. They tell you how to lay your plan, And how to carry it through. They help the man, who's done what he can, To bear his Waterloo.