"This day is called the Feast of
Crispian.
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will
stand a-tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of
Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t' old age
Will
yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours
And say, "Tomorrow
is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show
his scars
And say, "These wounds I had on Crispin'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 remembered.
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 today 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
Shall think
themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods
cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint
Crispin's Day."
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