This day is called—the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
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 friends
And say—to-morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
[236] 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 their mouths as household words,—
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster—
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispian Crispin 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 of England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
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 friends
And say—to-morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
[236] 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 their mouths as household words,—
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster—
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispian Crispin 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 of England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.