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
By Jove I am not covetous for gold
But if it be a sin to covet honour
I am the most offending soul alive
No faith wish not one man more from England
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
Rather proclaim it Westmoreland through my host
That he which hath no stomach to this fight
Let him depart; his passage shall be made
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
This day is called the feast of Crispian
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian
And rouse him at the name of Crispian!
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day
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
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 remember'd
We band of brothers
Shall be remember'd!