In peace there is nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
And the flesh'd soldier, tough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your flesh - fair virgins and your flowering infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,
Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,
Do with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
What is it to me,
When you yourselves are cause,
If pure maidens fall into the hand