Post by agoodcuppa on Apr 20, 2007 21:13:06 GMT
For those with more pressing matters to deal with, now seem a suitable moment to post some thoughts in celebration of the English national day.
And, with suitable apologies, my own contribution_
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 tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let 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'erhang 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 noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed 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 grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show 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 upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
Click for appropriate music
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 tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let 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'erhang 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 noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed 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 grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show 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 upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
Click for appropriate music
And, with suitable apologies, my own contribution_
GLORIOUS CASK
Glorious cask or fizzy ‘best’, that is the question;
Whether ‘tis simpler to see the billboards message and request
The gas and blandness of insipid keg,
Or to choose cask beer against a sea of fizz
And by rejection end it? To quaff; to sup;
No more; or, by a draught or our local brewers craft to say we end
The aches and thousand unnatural shocks,
That fizz inflicts, ‘tis a consumption
Devoutly to be wished. To quaff, to sup;
To sup, perchance to taste; ay there’s the nub;
For into that foaming tankard what taste is conjured
When without the cellar door the gurgling keg is cast
Must give us cause to toast our elixir
Glorious cask or fizzy ‘best’, that is the question;
Whether ‘tis simpler to see the billboards message and request
The gas and blandness of insipid keg,
Or to choose cask beer against a sea of fizz
And by rejection end it? To quaff; to sup;
No more; or, by a draught or our local brewers craft to say we end
The aches and thousand unnatural shocks,
That fizz inflicts, ‘tis a consumption
Devoutly to be wished. To quaff, to sup;
To sup, perchance to taste; ay there’s the nub;
For into that foaming tankard what taste is conjured
When without the cellar door the gurgling keg is cast
Must give us cause to toast our elixir
I love being english, but one thing i am glad for this st georges day is not doing the parade with scouts anymore, as i always had a lot of attention focused on me due to the fact i used to hold the union jack...... hate = being centre of attention!
