War - Shakespeare

[BLUEHAWK]

Various comments on war by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

"The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
My thrice-driven bed of down."

"Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkl'd front;
and now, instead of mounting barbed steed,
to fright the souls of fearful adversaries, -
he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
to the lascivious pleasing of a lute."

"This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
this other Eden, demi-paradise,
this fortress built by Nature herself
against infection and the hand of war,
this happy breed of men, this little world,
this precious stone set in the silver sea,
which serves it in the office of a wall,
or as a moat defensive to a house,
against the envy of less happier lands,
this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England..."

"O! wither'd is the garland of the war,
the soldier's pole is fall'n; young boys and girls
are level now with men; the odds is gone,
and there is nothing remarkable
beneath the visiting moon."

"Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day
does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of
vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy: mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children
than war's a destroyer of men."

"This battle fares like to the morning's war,
when dying clouds contend with growing light,
what time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
can neither call it perfect day or night."

"Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war
upon their spotted souls for this offense!"

"The purple testament of bleeding war."

"Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience
to do no contriv'd murder: I lack inequity
sometimes to do me service."

"Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more;
or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there's 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,
disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
then lend the eye a terrible aspect."

"Poor Brutus, with himself at war,
forgets the shows of love to other men."