Practice Typing

What art thou, boldest of the race of man. Our eyes till now that aspect neer beheld, Where fame is reapd amid the embattled field; Yet far before the troops thou darst appear, And meet a lance the fiercest heroes fear. Unhappy they, and born of luckless sires, Who tempt our fury when Minerva fires. But if from heaven, celestial, thou descend, Know with immortals we no more contend.