My lords, the French are very strong.

There is five to one, and yet they all are fresh.

Of fighting men they have full forty 2244thousand.

The odds is all too great. Farewell, kind lords.

12.522501075Brave Clarence, and my lord of Gloucester,

12.622511076My lord of Warwick, and to all, farewell.

[To Salisbury] Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly today.

12.822531078And yet in truth I do thee wrong,

12.922541079For thou art made on the true sparks of honor.

Oh, would we had 2260but ten thousand men 22611082now, at this instant, that doth not work in England.

Who's that, that wishes so, my cousin Warwick? 22751084God's will, I would not lose the honor 22761085one man would share from me, 22771086not for my kingdom.

12.121087No, faith, my cousin, wish not one man more.

12.1322781088Rather proclaim it presently through our camp

12.1422791089That he that hath no stomach to this feast,

12.1522801090Let him depart. His passport shall be drawn

12.1622811091And crowns for convoy put into his purse.

12.1722821092We would not die in that man's company

12.1822831093That fears his fellowship to die with us.

12.1922841094This day is called the day of Crispin.

12.2022881095He that outlives this day and sees old age

12.2122861096Shall stand a tiptoe when this day is named

12.2222871097And rouse him at the name of Crispin.

12.2322851098He that outlives this day and comes safe home

12.2422891099Shall yearly on the vigil feast his friends,

12.2522901100And say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispin's Day."

12.2622981101Then shall we in their flowing bowls

12.271102Be newly remembered: 2296Harry the King,

12.281103Bedford and Exeter, 2297Clarence and Gloucester,

12.291104Warwick and York,

12.3022951105Familiar in their mouths as household words.

12.3122991106This story shall the good man tell his son,

12.3223011107And from this day unto the general doom,

12.3323021108But we in it shall be rememberèd.

12.3423031109We few, we happy few, we bond of brothers,

12.3523041110For he today that sheds his blood by mine

12.3623051111Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so base,

12.3723061112This day shall gentle his condition.

12.3822911113Then shall he strip his sleeves, and show his scars

12.392291.11114And say, "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."

12.4023071115And gentlemen in England now abed

12.4123081116Shall think themselves accursed

12.4223091117And hold their manhood cheap 1118while any speak

12.432310That fought with us 1119upon Saint Crispin's day.

My gracious lord, 23131121the French is in the field.

Why all things are ready if our minds be so.

Perish the man whose mind is backward now.

Thou dost not wish more help from England, 2318cousin?

God's will, my liege, would you and I alone

12.4923201126Without more help might fight this battle out.

Why well said. That doth please me better

12.511128Than to wish me one. -- 2323You know your charge,

12.521129God be with you all.

Once more I come to know of thee, King Henry,

12.5423261132What thou wilt give for ransom.

Who hath sent thee now?

The Constable of France.

I prithee bear my former answer back:

12.5823381136Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones.

12.5923391137Good God, why should they mock good fellows thus?

12.6023401138The man that once did sell the lion's skin

12.6123411139While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him.

12.6223421140A many of our bodies shall no doubt

12.6323431141Find graves within your realm of France:

12.6423461142Though buried in your dunghills, we shall be famed,

12.6523471143For there the sun shall greet them,

12.6623481144And draw up their honors reeking up to heaven,

12.6723491145Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,

12.6823501146The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.

12.6923511147Mark then abundant valor in our English,

12.7023521148That being dead, like to the bullets crazing,

12.7123531149Breaks forth into a second course of mischief,

12.7223541150Killing in relapse of mortality.

12.7323551151Let me speak proudly:

12.7423591152There's not a piece of feather in our camp --

12.7523601153Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly --

12.7623611154And time hath worn us into slovenry.

12.7723621155But by the mass, our hearts are in the trim,

12.7823631156And my poor soldiers tell me yet ere night

12.7923641157They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck

12.8023651158The gay new clothes o'er your French soldiers' ears

12.8123661159And turn them out of service. If they do this,

12.8223671160As if it please God they shall,

12.831161Then shall our ransom 2368soon be levièd.

12.8423691162Save thou thy labor, herald.

12.8523701163Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.

12.8623711164They shall have naught, I swear, but these my bones,

12.8723721165Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,

12.8823731166Will yield them little. Tell the constable.

I shall deliver so.

My gracious lord, upon my knee I crave

12.9123801170The leading of the vanguard.

Take it, brave York. -- Come soldiers, let's away,

12.9323831172And as thou pleasest, God, dispose the day.