Harfleur.txt

Once more into 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 your ears,
then imitate the
action of the tiger.
Stiffen the sinews,
summon up the blood,
disguise fair nature
with hard-favoured rage!

Then lend the eye a
terrible aspect,
let it pry through the
portage of the head
like a brass cannon.
Let the brow o'erwhelm
it as fearfully as
doth a galled rock 
o'erhang and jutty
its confounded base,
swilled by the wild and
fearful ocean.
Then set the teeth and
stretch the nostril wide,
hold hard the breath and
bend up every spirit
to its full height.

On, on you noblest
English, whose blood was
fet from fathers of
war proof! Fathers that,
like so many Alexanders,
have in these parts from
morn 'til even fought,
and sheathed their swords for
lack of argument.
Dishonour not your
Mothers!  Now attest
that those whom you called
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 your eyes.

I see you stand like
greyhounds in the slips,
straining upon the
start.  The game's afoot,
follow your spirits,
and upon this charge
cry "God for Harry, 
England and Saint George!"