Replies

In all of Shakespeare, there is no more stirring a passage than that enunciated by King Henry V before his little army at Agincourt. I shall not reproduce it here, as that would require Formatting Hell, but I love it just the same.

Henry V, Act IV, Scene III.

And yes, it is the "St. Crispian's Day" oration.

Whenever you doubt whether or not we shall prevail in this war against Islamic Fascism, reread that speech. It is in the great tradition of Pericles' Funeral Oration. It gives you the reason, the very soul of the West, as to why we shall, in the end, prevail.

Be Seeing You,

Chris

For we have a peculiar power of thinking before we act, and of acting, too, whereas other men are courageous from ignorance but hesitate upon reflection.

--Pericles' Funeral Oration

"Oh, I know... I'm going to use good judgment. I haven't lost my temper in 40 years, but pilgrim you caused a lotta trouble this morning... mighta got somebody killed... and somebody otta belt you in the mouth... but I won't... I won't... the hell I won't!"

--John Wayne "McClintock"

My Favorite!

Scene III The same. Before the gates.

[The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the
English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train]

KING HENRY V

How yet resolves the governor of the town?
This is the latest parle we will admit;
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves;
Or like to men proud of destruction
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,
Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil
As send precepts to the leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town and of your people,
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murder, spoil and villany.
If not, why, in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls,
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid,
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?