When you're imagining peace, you can't kill anyone. That's good isn't it?
And what the people but a herd confus'd, A miscellaneous rabble, who extol Things vulgar, and, well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise? They praise, and they admire, they know not what; And know not whom, but as one leads the other; And what delight to be by such extoll'd, To live upon their tongues, and be their talk, Of whom to be disprais'd were no small praise?