He receives comfort like cold porridge.
He that dies this year is quit for the next.
Let's all cry peace, freedom, and liberty!
Hold, or cut bowstrings.
Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.