Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson!
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash
For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
Pound is very much wearing the mask (that’s what a  persona  literally is; per= through sona=sounding) of Bertran in this poem, and these lines follow very closely the sentiment of some of his more meatheaded lines: 
 Que nuls om nin es re presatz Tro qu’d maintz colps pres e donatz. 
 [‘For no man is worth anything / Till he has taken and given many a blow’] 
