Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my denizens,
That he which hath no stomach to this topic,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not post in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to post with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
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 posts I had on Crispin's day.'