The quality of mercy is not strained
You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.