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CURLE. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
WARNOCK. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Curle? 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 ms would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Curle, 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 St George.
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 St George.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint George.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on George'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-
Warnock the King, Derry and Orr,
Faurlin and Taarabt, Connolly and Helgusson-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And St Georges Day 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 Georges's day.
I may also be paraphrasing Shakespear (whose birthday it is today too) but I am sure there is a line in Henry IV along the lines of ...
"Come on you R's lets do the Taff's"
You RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR'SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
WARNOCK. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Curle? 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 ms would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Curle, 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 St George.
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 St George.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint George.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on George'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-
Warnock the King, Derry and Orr,
Faurlin and Taarabt, Connolly and Helgusson-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And St Georges Day 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 Georges's day.
I may also be paraphrasing Shakespear (whose birthday it is today too) but I am sure there is a line in Henry IV along the lines of ...
"Come on you R's lets do the Taff's"
You RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR'SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS