The Bitter Clamor Of Two Eager Tongues.

O Comfort-killing Night, Image Of Hell, Dim Register And Notary Of Shame, Black Stage For Tragedies And Murders Fell, Vast Sin-concealing Chaos, Nurse Of Blame!

I Beseech You, Wrest Once The Law To Your Authority: To Do A Great Right, Do A Little Wrong.

There Are Many Events In The Womb Of Time Which Will Be Delivered.

All Pity Choked With Custom Of Fell Deeds.

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.