Thursday, October 25, 2012

St Crispin's Day


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


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.

-Henry V, Act 4, scene 3

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Blatant Advertizing

And darn good advertizing, too.

Some sample posters from Fr Phillips at Our Lady of the Atonement:

Several more at the link.

Catching up

Let's see if I still know how to work this Blogger thing. It's been a while. Other than last Sunday's bit of uillean piping, it's been almost a month since we dusted off The Inn and attempted a post. The usual excuses apply. When it's over 90° my little non-air-conditioned office is just too blessed hot to linger in and exercize the imagination. You see, "autumn" is an unusual concept here in the lower left-hand corner of the United States. September and October can be - usually are -- the hottest months of the year. The last few days have cooled off, thanks be to God, but it's been a long time coming.

And so we have missed the opportunity to post about all sorts of significant days: the feasts of St Therese of the Child Jesus, of St Teresa of Avila, the Holy Guardian Angels, the Blessed Emperor Charles of Austria, and St John of Bridlington who was the last English saint canonized before the reformation. We even missed  Jean Arthur's birthday, not to mention Annette Hanshaw's.

And we have been moderately busy with this that and the other thing, including a few annoying health thingummies. Nothing you die from, buy you don't feel like posting anything either.

It'll probably take another month to clear off the desk.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Some Piping for the Tail End of the Weekend

Fred Morrison on uillean pipes and a few friends play some reels to get you ready for the week.