What CaseNote?

What's he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin.

If we are marked to die, we are enough

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

God's will, I pray thee, wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,

Nor care I who feed doth upon my cost;

It yearns me not if men my garments wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sin to covet honor

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.

God's peace, I would not lose so great an honor

As one man more, methinks, would share from me

For the best hope I have. Oh, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host

That he which hath no stomach in this fight,

Let him depart; his passport shall be made

And crowns for convoy put into his purse.

We would not die in that man's company

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

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 see this day and live old age

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors

And say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."

Then he will strip his sleeve and show his scars,

And say, "These wounds I had on Crispian'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'er 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'er 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 Crispian's Day.

-William Shakespeare, The Life of King Henry the Fifth

VI.iii.18-67