Society and the World

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

 

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

 

This day is called the feast of Crispian:

 

If we are marked to die, we are enow

 

He which hath no stomach to this fight,

 

And what have kings that privates have not too,

 

And what have kings that privates have not too,

 

O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts.

 

Every subject’s duty is the king’s; but every subject’s soul is his own.

 

Every subject’s duty is the king’s; but every subject’s soul is his own.

 

Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,

 

Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,

 

I think the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.

 

I think the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.

 

I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing when blood is their argument?

 

The game’s afoot:

 

When we have matched our rackets to these balls,

 

Consideration like an angel came,

 

Can this cockpit hold

 

Can this cockpit hold

 

The sun does not set in my dominions.

 

The sun does not set in my dominions.

 

Alle Menschen werden Briider

 

Freude, schöner Götterfunken,