By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
What is more miserable than discontent?
All things are ready, if our mind be so.
Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.