Hold their manhoods cheap whilst any speaks,
And fought with us,
the ponts and crispets
My Jove,
I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.
What's he that wishes so?
To do our country loss.
We
are announced
To do our country loss.
And fought their manhoods cheap whilst any speaks,
And fought with us,
the ponts and crispets
Stay.
Live to live the fewer men the greater share of honour.
The greater share of honour.
Whilst will I pray thee, wish not one man more.
My Jove,
I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.
We are announced To do our country loss.
Yearns me not if men my garments wear,
Such outward things dwell not in my designs.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No,
faith like us wish not a man from England.
I would not lose so great an honour as one man more,
Who only thinks but share from me,
for the best hope I have.
O, do not wish one more.
Rather,
proclaim, Westverland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
let him depart.
His passport shall be made,
and crowns for convoy put into his purse.
This day is called the feast of Grespion.
He doth lives this day, and comes safe home.
He that shall live this day,
and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say,
Tomorrow?
Then he will strip his sleeve,
and show his scars,
And say,
These wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Then shall our names,
familiar in his mouth as household words,
This story shall the good man teach his son,
To the ending of the world,
that we in it shall be remembered.