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.
If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day an unaccustomed spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
From this day forward until the end of the world...we in it shall be remembered...we band of brothers.
This day I breathed first: time is come round, And where I did begin there shall I end; My life is run his compass.
O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come; But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.
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
This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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