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Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
  Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
    Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
      Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
      - William Shakespeare

Food for powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
      - William Shakespeare

He which hath no stomach to this fight,
  Let him depart; his passport shall be made.
      - William Shakespeare

Horribly stuffed with epithets of war.
      - William Shakespeare

I drew this gallant head of war,
  And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
    To outlook conquest and to win renown
      Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
      - William Shakespeare

Now all the youth of England are on fire,
  And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
    Now thrive the armorers, and honor's thought
      Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
      - William Shakespeare

Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
  That they may crush down with heavy fall
    The usurping helmets of our adversaries.
      - William Shakespeare

Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; then what should war be?
      - William Shakespeare

Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
  And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
    Numb'ring our Ave Marias with our beads?
      Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
        Tell our devotion with revengeful arms.
      - William Shakespeare

Shall we upon the footing of our land
  Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
    Insinuation, parley, and base truce,
      To arms invasive?
      - William Shakespeare

Tell me, he that knows,
 * * * * *
Why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
  And foreign mart for implements of war:
    Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
      Does not divide the Sunday from the week:
        What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
          Doth make the night joint-laborer with the day;
            Who is't that can inform me?
      - William Shakespeare

The armorers, accomplishing the knights,
  With busy hammers closing rivets up,
    Give dreadful note of preparation.
      - William Shakespeare

The fire-eyed maid of smoky war
  All hot and bleeding will we offer them.
      - William Shakespeare

The nimble gunner
  With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
    And down goes all before them.
      - William Shakespeare

There are few die well that die in a battle.
      - William Shakespeare

Thus far into the bowels of the land
  Have we march'd on without impediment.
      - William Shakespeare

To my shame, I see
  The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
    That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,
      Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot
        Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
          Which is not tomb enough, and continent,
            To hide the slain.
      - William Shakespeare

War 'twixt you twain would be as if the world should cleave, and that slain men should solder up the rift.
      - William Shakespeare

Your honor call you hence;
  Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,
    And all the gods go with you. Upon your sword
      Sit laurel victory, and smooth success
        Be strewed before your feet!
      - William Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra
         (Cleopatra at I, iii)

And all the gods go with you! I upon your sword
  Sit laurel victory; and smooth success
    Be strew'd before your feet.
      - William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra

No blame to be to you, sir, for all was lost,
  But that the heavens fought.
      - William Shakespeare, Cymbeline
         (Posthumus at V, iii)

Give me the cups,
  And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
    The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
      The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth,
        'Now the king drinks to Hamlet.'
      - William Shakespeare,
        Hamlet Prince of Denmark
         (Claudius, King of Denmark at V, ii)

Blood and destruction shall be so in use
  And dreadful objects so familiar
    That mothers shall but smile when they behold
      Their infants quartered with the hands of war,
        All pity choked with custom of fell deeds;
          And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
            With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
              Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
                Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war,
                  That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
                    With carrion men, groaning for burial.
      - William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
         (Antony at III, i)

And telling me the sovereignest thing on earth
  Was parmacity for an inward bruise,
    And that it was great pity, so it was,
      This villainous saltpetre should be digged
        Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
          Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
            So cowardly, and but for these vile guns,
              He would himself have been a soldier.
      - William Shakespeare,
        King Henry the Fourth, Part I
         (Hotspur at I, iii)

We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns,
  And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!
      - William Shakespeare,
        King Henry the Fourth, Part I
         (Hotspur at II, iii)

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