Ah, cuddles, the formal Eating Of The Scab......takes me back to my childhood.....*sniff*.

Now, I just feed them to the field Cocker.

...........anyhoo, Your Iron Dukeship, I see your Horatio and raise you a Henry V (Act IV, Scene III), with a walk-on part from from Westmoreland..........*makes throat clearing noises*............

WESTMORELAND
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!


KING HENRY V
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 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 wounds I had on Crispin'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 remember'd.
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 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 accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

.................with linky to Branagh delivering said speech http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewbuPY3uGQ4 AND with French subtitles, just in case they did'nt get it the first time.

Originally Posted by vvaannmmaann

I thought the Great Bard was Shakespeare?

Easy mistake to make; he was Scottish as well! :D

Originally Posted by Baseplate

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 accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Thats just cheating. That was one of the few times The Bard made any sense at all.

If you want to do it, I can compare the verse of Rabbie with his fellow Scotch poet McGonagall?

You want me to do it? Because I will. Dont test me here.

Originally Posted by Baseplate

Ah, cuddles, the formal Eating Of The Scab......takes me back to my childhood.....*sniff*.

Now, I just feed them to the field Cocker.

...........anyhoo, Your Iron Dukeship, I see your Horatio and raise you a Henry V (Act IV, Scene III), with a walk-on part from from Westmoreland..........*makes throat clearing noises*............

WESTMORELAND
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!


KING HENRY V
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 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 wounds I had on Crispin'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 remember'd.
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 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 accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

.................with linky to Branagh delivering said speech http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewbuPY3uGQ4 AND with French subtitles, just in case they did'nt get it the first time.

Ah; the abridged version.

The full one having the immortal lines:

Psst, nip over there and murder those prisoners will you?

and

What's the point Your Magnificence. We lose this war anyway

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
An' Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English stell we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O would, or I had seen the day
That Treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak this declaration;
We're bought and sold for English gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!


'nuff said...................................

Murder the prisoners? Never!!

............well, only the PBI: gentlemen of rank were ransomed. After all, war maybe war, but business is ALWAYS profit and loss.

Originally Posted by Sixty

Ah; the abridged version.

The full one having the immortal lines:

Psst, nip over there and murder those prisoners will you?

Hey, mistakes were made, lessons were learned, all right?

Hows it going in the Madrassa? Got enough rice have you?

You do realise that Burns day ended at 0001 this morning

Originally Posted by mwl946

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
.................etc, etc, etc

Play nicely, now, or I'll start wittering on about the sixth verse of the National Anthem.

Originally Posted by ordinaryforces

Tropper
I thought you were a Taff? If so what are you doing indulging in this teuchtery?
next thing we,ll know is that you are a closet Morris-dancer.

Teuchtery? Bloody teuchtery! Burns was as much of a 'teuchter' as John Buchan's Gorbals Diehards!!!