King: Once
more unto
the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with 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 it pry through the portage of
the head
Like the brass cannon; let the bow 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 sword 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 yeomen,
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 the
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!
William Shakespeare
King Henry V
Act III, Scene 1
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Unto the Breach!
