For Those We Hate

In peace there is nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood

The gates of mercy shall be all shut up
And the flesh'd soldier, tough and hard of heart
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With consience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your flesh - fair virgins and your flowering infants

What is it then to me, if impious war
Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends
Do with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
What is it to me
When you yourselves are cause
If pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation?

Your fathers taken by the silver beards
And there most reverend heads dash'd to the walls;
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd