"Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts."

I've been reading my Shakespeare again lately and as I grow older I find myself more and more enjoying the histories, specifically Henry V. As a youth, I preferred the tragedies; Othello and Macbeth still hold a special allure for me. In fact it wasn't until college that I even started reading the histories, and that was mostly due to productions the school was doing of Richard III.

I like Henry V for the same reason most others do; the inspirational tones, the mounting suspense of battle, and the dance numbers. Ok I made that last part up, but still.

I like to draw parallels to my own life and often quote the play as the situation demands. Often I can be heard walking through the office exclaiming "Once more into the breach, dear friends..." But nothing inspires me against the overwhelming forces we all deal with every day like hearing or reading the famous St. Crispin's Day speech. The French outnumber the English 5 to 1, they are veteran troops and fresh, unlike Harry's bag of tired sore soldiers. No one would mock them if they just packed it up and came home, but the rallying cry of Henry steels his men and tempers that steel with swagger and off to win the Battle of Agincourt they go behind their inspiring leader.

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed 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 honour,
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 honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, 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;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he 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 rememb'red.
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 to-day 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-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

God Save the King.


(P.S. If you haven't seen Kenneth Branaugh's Henry V do yourself a favor and watch it immediately. The following is a scene from that film which has one of the greatest choral arrangements I have heard in a long time.)