Act4 Scene2

Westmerland: Of fighting men they haue full threescore thousand.

Exeter: There's fiue to one, besides they all are fresh.

Westmerland: O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England, That doe no worke to day.

King: What's he that wishes so?

My Cousin Westmerland. No, my faire Cousin: If we are markt to dye, we are enow To doe our Countrey losse: and if to liue,

The fewer men, the greater share of honour. Gods will, I pray thee wish not one man more. By Ioue, I am not couetous for Gold,

Nor care I who doth feed vpon my cost: It yernes me not, if men my Garments weare; Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sinne to couet Honor, I am the most offending Soule aliue. No 'faith, my Couze, wish not a man from England: Gods peace, I would not loose so great an Honor,

As one man more me thinkes would share from me, For the best hope I haue. O, doe not wish one more: Rather proclaime it (Westmerland) through my Hoast, That he which hath no stomack to this fight,

Let him depart, his Pasport shall be made, And Crownes for Conuoy put into his Purse: We would not dye in that mans companie,

That feares his fellowship, to dye with vs. This day is call'd the Feast of Crispian: He that out-liues this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,

And rowse him at the Name of Crispian. He that shall see this day, and liue old age, Will yeerely on the Vigil feast his neighbours,

And say, to morrow is Saint Crispian. Then will he strip his sleeue, and shew his skarres:

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot: But hee'le remember, with aduantages,

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,

This story shall the good man teach his sonne: And Crispine Crispian shall ne're goe by, From this day to the ending of the World, But we in it shall be remembred; 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're so vile, This day shall gentle his Condition.

And Gentlemen in England, now a bed, Shall thinke themselues accurst they were not here; And hold their Manhoods cheape, whiles any speakes, That fought with vs vpon Saint Crispines day.

Salisbury: My Soueraign Lord, bestow your selfe with speed: The French are brauely in their battailes set, And will with all expedience charge on vs. King: All things are ready, if our minds be so.

Westmerland: Perish the man, whose mind is backward now.

King: Thou do'st not wish more helpe from England, / Couze?

Westmerland: Gods will, my Liege, would you and I alone, Without more helpe, could fight this Royall battaile.

King: Why now thou hast vnwisht fiue thousand men: Which likes me better, then to wish vs one.

You know your places: God be with you all.