The which we pay for as a thing to talk of,
Spectators and not combatants! Abroad
Stuffed out with big preamble, holy names,
And adjurations of the God in heaven,
We send our mandates for the certain death
Of thousands and ten thousands! Boys and girls,
And women, that would groan to see a child
Pull off an insect’s leg, all read of war,
The best amusement for our morning’s meal!
The poor wretch who has learnt his only prayers