Enter King Henry (arf!):
What's he that wishes so? The cnut.
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin, and I don't mean that gayly:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. Dophin you French hoor; I will take ye down! I will crush you!
Godk's will! I pray thee, wish not one mong more.
I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost, but I'd prefer it to be Buffy; who's fed on a few "costs".
Mmmmmmmmm.
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires, although I did recently pay οΎ£120 for a pair of shoes:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive Man, there's no hope for me Man.
No, faith, Darren, wish not a man from Spain, be he Fernando Morientes or no, he's not coming:
Godk's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
So you can all go feck yourselves. Let's all laugh at Spurs!
Instead, let us take the field at Liverpool Street Station, about one o'clock, near the newspaper seller.
Proclaim it, Starfish, through my host,
That Capp, which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse; which he carries because he's so gay.
"Is it just me";..or would we not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us?
This day is called the feast of Crispian; which is the gayest name ever:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home to the Mrs, night lads,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named, saying"Do you like WWF?????? Well, do you???????";
And rouse him at the name of Keane to have the same argument for the 100th time
He that shall live this day and see old age shall then play for Linfield, but not score,
And will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'Forum Poll: France or England for Euro 1415 then? Come on.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and post fake pics of his scars,
And say: "These wounds I had at The Den in 1986, unlike you post Italia hoors".
Old men forget, Stu, yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages - link? - what feats he did that day: then shall our names
Familiar in his mouth - In the van son - as household words
Elvis the king, Bongo and Macster,
Regular and Bert, Wibble and Krapp's Last Tape,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd
And nobody's cups flow like mine ladies, they're like Space Hoppers.
This story shall the good man teach his son, man;
And Poo Bah! shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world, when the night-timers come on about 6,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers and pretend sisters;
For he to-day that shares inane shite with me and does no actual work
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, which is unlikely
This day shall gentle his condition:
And lazy, work-shy students in England now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here slighty earlier,
And hold their manhoods cheap (*speechless with gay shock*) whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
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