Trump: We shall have a stirring world again.

Hesgeth: This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, breed ballad-makers.

Trump: Let me have war, say I. It exceeds peace as far as day does night. It’s sprightly walking, audible and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war’s a destroyer of men.

Hesgeth: ‘Tis so, and as war, in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher. So it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.

Trump: Ay, and it makes men hate one another.

(Not really Trump and Hegseth – obvi! – but the more well-spoken war-mongering Servingmen in Act IV of Shakespeare’s Corlioanus.)