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WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here | |
| But one ten thousand of those men in England | |
| That do no work to-day! | |
(Enter KING HENRY.) KING HENRY. What ’s he that wishes so? | |
| My cousin Westmoreland?—No, my fair cousin: | 5 |
| 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 honor. | |
| God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. | |
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| By Jove, I am not covetous for gold; | 10 |
| 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 honor, | |
| I am the most offending soul alive. | 15 |
| No, ’faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: | |
| God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honor, | |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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. | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, | |
| And say, To-morrow is Saint Crispian: | |
| Then will he strip his sleeves, and show his scars, | |
| And say, these wounds I had on Crispian’s day. | |
| Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, | 35 |
| But he ’ll remember, with advantages, | |
| What feats he did that day: then shall our names, | |
| Familiar in their mouths as household words,— | |
| Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, | |
| Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,— | 40 |
| Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d: | |
| 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: | 45 |
| 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 abed, | 50 |
| Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, | |
| And hold their manhood cheap, while any speaks | |
| That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day. | |
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