Once more unto the breach, dear
friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our
English dead.
In peace there's nothing so
becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows
in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the
tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the
blood,
Disguise fair nature with
hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible
aspect;
Let pry through the portage of
the head
Like the brass cannon; let the
brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled
rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded
base,
Swill'd with the wild and
wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the
nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up
every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you
noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers
of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many
Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn
till even fought
And sheathed their swords for
lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now
attest
That those whom you call'd
fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser
blood,
And teach them how to war.
And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England,
show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let
us swear
That you are worth your breeding;
which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean
and base,
That hath not noble lustre in
your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds
in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The
game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this
charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and
Saint George!'
The speech of the King given before
Harfleur: from King Henry V Act 3, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare.
No comments:
Post a Comment