What’s he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland?
No, my fair cousin; If we are mark’d to die, we are
enow To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such
outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it
be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending
soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from
England. God’s peace! I would not lose so great an
honour As one man more methinks would share from
me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one
more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my
host, That he which hath no stomach to this
fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be
made, And crowns for convoy put into his
purse; We would not die in that man’s
company That fears his fellowship to die with
us. This day is call’d the feast of
Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe
home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is
nam’d, And rouse him at the name of
Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old
age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his
neighbours, And say ‘To-morrow is Saint
Crispian.’ Then will he strip his sleeve and show
his scars, And say ‘These wounds I had on
Crispian’s day.’ Old men forget; yet all shall be
forgot, But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in
their flowing cups freshly rememb’red. This story
shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin
Crispian shall ne’er go by, From this day to the
ending of the world, But we in it shall be
remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of
brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with
me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.