Hath his bellyful of fighting.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Cymbeline. Act ii. Sc. 1.

He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 23.

The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,

For want of fighting was grown rusty,

And ate into itself, for lack

Of somebody to hew and hack.

Samuel Butler (1600-1680): Hudibras. Part i. Canto i. Line 359.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,

Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.

War, he sung, is toil and trouble;

Honour but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,

Fighting still, and still destroying.

If all the world be worth the winning,

Think, oh think it worth enjoying:

Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Alexander's Feast. Line 97.