We are the smirched. Queen Honor is the spotless. 
We slept thro' wars where Honor could not sleep. 
We were faint-hearted. Honor was full-valiant. 
We kept a silence Honor could not keep. 

Yet this late day we make a song to praise her. 
We, codeless, will yet vindicate her code. 
She who was mighty, walks with us, the beggars. 
The merchants drive her out upon the road. 

She makes a throne of sod beside our campfire. 
We give the maiden-queen our rags and tears. 
A battered, rascal guard have rallied round her, 
To keep her safe until the better years.