War is the trade of kings.
As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
For those whom God to ruin has design'd, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, Is Nature's eye.
Raw in the fields the rude militia swarms, Mouth without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence.
Whatever is, is in its causes just.