O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?
William ShakespeareFrom this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he neโer so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accursโd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispinโs day.
William Shakespeare