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 Horses, his horses even, are tired. They were strong. We have no rest, three battles a month. By heaven, his horses are tired. The generals are on them, the soldiers are by them The horses are well trained, the generals have ivory arrows and quivers ornamented with fish-skin. The enemy is swift, we must be careful. When we set out, the willows were drooping with spring, We come back in the snow, We go slowly, we are hungry and thirsty, Our mind is full of sorrow, who will know of our grief? By Bunno.