Kin.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness, and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tyger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up ^note the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspéct;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock
O'er-hang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height!—On, on, you ^note noblest ^note English,
Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have, in these parts, from morn 'till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest,
That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you!
Be copy now to men of ^note grosser blood,
And teach them how to war!—And you, good yeomen,

Whose limbs were made in England, shew us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear,
That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining ^note upon the start. The game's a foot; ^note
Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge,
Cry—God for Harry! England! and saint George! [Exeunt, sounding a Charge.

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