Confess and be hanged.
Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.
Blood is the god of war's rich livery.
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.
I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.
Strike up the drum and march courageously.