Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
My friends were poor, but honest, so's my love.
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love.
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From 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
Soft pity enters an iron gate.