This day is called the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand a-tiptoe 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 neighbors
And say, "Tommorow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say "These wounds I had on St. 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 his mouth as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son,
And Crispin Crispian shall ne're 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 today 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 abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's Day.