Go, Bid The Soldiers Shoot.

Cry Havoc And Let Slip The Dogs Of War!

For By His Face Straight Shall You Know His Heart.

Though It Be Honest, It Is Never Good To Bring Bad News.

We Fail! But Screw Your Courage To The Sticking-place, And We'll Not Fail.

The Language I Have Learnt These Forty Years, My Native English, Now I Must Forgo; And Now My Tongue's Use Is To Me No More Than An Unstringed Viol Or A Harp, Or Like A Cunning Instrument Cased Up Or, Being Open, Put Into His Hands That Knows No Touch To Tune The Harmony.