Once more unto the breach

Sir Laurence of Olivier as King Henry V (1944)

As a kid, I read "The Hound of the Baskervilles" and a few other sundry Sherlock Holmes stories. One does not forget the twist of "The Speckled Band" very easily. A few years ago, in preparation for the new Robert Downey Jr. movie, I made sure I read every story Sir Arthur Conan Doyle reluctantly wrote about this most beloved of fictional characters. I remember very clearly Holmes' quoting of King Henry V ("Come, Watson, come. The game is afoot."), so I was very pleased that RDJ and Jude Law both repeated from the same speech together in the film ("Follow your spirit, and upon this charge, cry, 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'") Obviously, this speech is quintessentially BRITISH, and therefore, I would be remiss to NOT know it by heart.

"Unto the Breach" was on the shortlist in my mind. It was delivered with deliciously fiery aplomb by Sir Ken in his film, though Sir Laurence recited the thing in its entirety in his (Why cut it down, Ken, why? Thank the Universe you were such a stickler for Hamlet!). Tom Hiddleston's more toned-down, smouldering version was also cut short for The BBC's Hollow Crown series, unfortunately. But all fed my desire to conquer this speech.

It's one of the most stirring and famous Shakespeare speeches of all, declared before the gates of Harfleur while Henry is leading his soldiers in his French campaign. Henry's years of slumming with Poins and Falstaff in Eastcheap pay off, as he is able to speak to his men in their own language and summon great national pride and excitement by appealing to the nobility within them all. It's a testament to Henry's leadership skills (and relatively youthful cocksure ambition) that he's even able to lead his army as far as they go, and he has even more evocative speeches along the way, some of which can be argued are even more powerful. But that's for another day...

Henry V, Act III, Sc. I

King Henry V: 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!'