Full of sound and fury

Macbeth hath murdered my sleep

Newcastle. Evening. Tyneside Cinema.
The tiny lobby is packed with folks of all ages, all politely awaiting the cue to queue into the theatre for the sold-out broadcast. When the time comes, my friends and I file past the signs for upcoming films ("The World's End is playing in the UK already? We have to go see it next week!") and find our seats in the front row. Refreshments are being sold in the theatre proper--pop and beer and "cinema-sized" ice creams. I get a Blue Moon and have a seat.

The room is packed, but far more calm than I would expect from a similar screening back in the states. The program is filled with future Shakespearean fare: a modern-day interpretation of Othello, Tom Hiddleston as Coriolanus, encore screenings of Rory Kinnear's Hamlet. I sip my beer and settle in.

An NT representative lady appears on the screen and says it's ok to clap after the showing, because even though the stage actors in Manchester cannot hear us, they can feel the spirit of our appreciation. This gets a laugh from most of the audience behind me, which I find strange; back home, I've seen several plain old film screenings like The Avengers or The Hobbit where people would clap prompted by nothing more than their profound enjoyment.

After the lady interviews the co-director, Rob Ashford, and he fawns over Sir Ken's prowess, the production begins. There are unseen cameras positioned everywhere in the deconsecrated church where the play is housed--it seems as many as you tend to see floating and angling around stadiums during major American football games on ESPN. It affords a very intimate and satisfying view of all the proceedings.

The weird sisters appear, and a rainy, muddy battle begins. All the scenes play out in the slippery grime, staining clothes and shoes and robbing the actors of perfectly graceful strides. The mud enhances the visceral, earthy feel of Macbeth, showcasing the truly ancient and pagan nature of this play's dark and violent themes.

Sir Ken's Macbeth is clearly good-hearted and humble at the start. He and Banquo are genuinely startled by the sister's prophecies. When Alex Kingston's Lady Macbeth reads her husband's letter, she is joyous and enthusiastic on every level, and the dark starts to creep in. After seeing Macbeth in battle, and seeing his wife declare her ambitions, you eagerly anticipate the moment he reappears and they embrace for the first time. The reunion scene is crackling with sexual tension.

The scenes fly by quickly, with no pause between them whatsoever. The overall feeling of the production is one of the "vaulting ambition" o'erleaping itself, but it never falters and falls. It sprints forward, and while you feel Macbeth's sense of being rushed, you as the onlooker can still keep up just fine. The soliloquies that are traditionally slowed so the audience can rubberneck would be almost glossed over if it weren't for the gravitas the actors give them.

The following scenes struck me the most:

1) When Macbeth sees the dagger before him, at first, it is simply light from the cross-shaped window falling on the ground, stretched and distorted by its sharp angle, throwing a giant bright sword on the mud.
2) After Macbeth is crowned, he presents himself as confident and regal, and sends Banquo off with all the friendliness their relationship deserves. But as soon as everyone leaves the stage but Macbeth, he goes through his "barren sceptre" speech with paranoia and urgency, then curls up in the throne under his cape, childlike and fearful.
3) In the sleepwalking scene, Alex Kingston appears to be channelling the weird sisters in flashes and starts, lending an especially disturbing supernatural possession to her condition.
4) Macduff's "All my pretty chickens" scene is heartbreakingly delivered by Ray Fearon, with an intensity that approaches, if not equals, even Sir Ken's performance.
5) Macbeth's "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow" speech always seems to read with a catatonic shock, and I've seen some movies and clips where it's delivered with a steady low affect and monotone voice. Sir Ken begins it that way, but halfway through, he breaks down entirely, weeping and dripping with tears and snot. He is barely able to finish the last line with any kind of audible voice, and you completely believe that he's still a good man deep inside, simply and tragically grieving for his beloved wife.

Some other fascinating points include:

1) The weird sisters appear even when they have no lines or don't normally show up in a scene, and their presence imparts the not-so-weird idea that they have a lot more control of the entire drama than expected.
2) The same actor who plays Duncan later plays Seyton, Macbeth's assistant/military officer.
3) The "cauldron" that Macbeth sees when he revisits the sisters is made up of actors on the ground, shaking a giant round sheet, out of which the sons of Banquo emerge and walk past Macbeth in zombie-like fashion.
4) Alex Vlahos, who deftly plays Malcolm, was the same actor who played Mordred on the BBC's series Merlin. It was fun to see him pop up!
5) Patrick Doyle's score, as usual, sneaks in and heightens the mood of every scene with that skillful subtlety that you barely know the music is there. Awesome.

In the end, you get a very highly anticipated Macbeth/Macduff battle. When Macduff reveals the truth about his birth, Macbeth visibly loses his shit, and musters all the remaining energy he has toward going down with a fight.

Clocking in at just over two hours, this Macbeth was a whirlwind of solidly magnetic characters and fierce action. The eerie setting as well as several intriguing individual performance choices at key moments made the play feel as fresh as if it were written yesterday... as it should be with Shakespeare. It should never feel static and dry, which is something that even Joss Whedon's lovingly re-imagined Much Ado About Nothing suffered from at times. More on that next week, though.

If you get the chance to see an encore screening of Macbeth (or if this NT Live production gets released on DVD) definitely treat yourself to some high quality Shakespeare!

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Car Park Man.

Tom Hiddleston, in an interview regarding playing Loki in (Sir Ken's!) Thor  and The Avengers, said that "every villain is a hero in his own mind." He's obviously following the old actors' adage about not judging the character(s) you play, and this is especially true when you're the "bad guy." Shakespeare is often--and correctly--accused of demonizing the non-Tudor King Richard III, in what is essentially a propagandistic move to stay in the good graces of the reigning Queen Elizabeth at the time. But Shakespeare still clearly understood that a truly effective villain is one with pathos. Without that soupçon of vulnerability and sympathy, a truly great villain is incomplete--little more than a mindless, faceless cloud of smoke. Or a polar bear. Or whatever. Fucking Lost.

And so it is with Richard (and of course, Loki, because, what else would you expect from Sir Ken?). As the audience, we are forced to consider whether Richard's deformity is a manifestation of his evil ambition, or, if he would have these ambitions at all if he were not so "rudely stamp'd." Is he so shaped due to his inherent evil or has a life of being bullied for his outward appearance hardened his heart? The  curious thing is, Richard could care less what we feel, though he presents it both ways. He certainly does not judge himself... at least not in this play. 

My favorite bits in his 3 Henry VI speech are the the ones that express his fondest dreams. The imagery he invokes is so crisp and precise that we realize the tragedy of such a poetic and clever mind employed for harm rather than charity. Standing on a promontory, gazing longingly upon a far-off goal, fighting his way through a treacherous forest of thorns, and the heavy mountain upon his back implies that his struggle is against Nature more than anything else. His watchwork mind is strained, and requires a challenge to prevent his absolute boredom. 

His ennui is transformed by the journey of his speech, as indicated by the "characters" that populate his mind. At the start, he lists the banal family members who stand between him and the crown. He disdains Edward's sinful lust while himself committing covetous thoughts. Between this mention of Edward, his brother Clarence, Henry, and the young Edward, Richard only brings to mind faceless whores and soldiers and his own unnamed mother. At the end, however, Richard reveals his larger-than-life heroes: the Homeric Greeks Nestor, Ulysses, Sinon, and Proteus. He describes their skills and achievements with an almost childish confidence that he can outstrip them all in deed and zeal. Nestor had great persuasive power, Ulysses tricked many monsters and men on his voyages, Sinon convinced the Trojans to accept the Greek-filled horse, and Proteus was immortal and took many animal forms to suit his needs. Richard reveals his ultimate aggressive arrogance in finally setting down the infamous Machiavelli as a mere student to his professorial expertise in deception. 

The relish in Richard's voice becomes so obvious by the end that it seems almost impossible to find sympathy in our hearts for this murderer and usurper. And yet, by virtue of being the most fascinating and entertaining of all the characters on stage, we guiltily cling to our worser parts and secretly cheer his calculations, if not his actions. 

I brought up Loki not only because I love Hiddles and I just watched Iron Man 3 the other day and so direly await the next Thor film. I'm asking that you trust this raging fangirl as far as is possible to trust a raging fangirl, but... the connections are apparent. There's a reason why the filmic Loki is so beloved by theatre-going audiences as a character: he's another in a long line of successfully sinister villains that serve as a magnet held to our moral compasses. I'm not saying that Shakespeare invented the archetype of an ambiguous villain, but he unerringly moulded some of the best and most enduring. Iago, Macbeth, Edmund, Shylock, Claudius, Richard, etc... they're all their own archetypes now. 

I also wished to neatly bundle up my project by stitching the end back to Sir Kenneth Branagh, whose work spurred my initial motivation to embark upon this intimidating goal. He inspired me at every moment that I felt I'd crumble, filling my ears with mellifluous words (and providing the all-important eye-candy) and passion that prevented detachment and despair. But I credit the fangirl inside me for carrying me through, proving that all these years of practiced obsession and compulsion is good for something after all. 

Stick with me, however, as I have decided that this is not, nor it cannot, be the end.

King Henry VI, Part III, Act III, Sc. II

Gloucester: Ay, Edward will use women honourably.

Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,

That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,

To cross me from the golden time I look for!

And yet, between my soul's desire and me--

The lustful Edward's title buried--

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,

And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,

To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:

A cold premeditation for my purpose!

Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;

Like one that stands upon a promontory,

And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,

Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,

And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,

Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:

So do I wish the crown, being so far off;

And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;

And so I say, I'll cut the causes off,

Flattering me with impossibilities.

My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,

Unless my hand and strength could equal them.

Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;

What other pleasure can the world afford?

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,

And deck my body in gay ornaments,

And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

O miserable thought! and more unlikely

Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!

Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:

And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,

She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,

To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;

To make an envious mountain on my back,

Where sits deformity to mock my body;

To shape my legs of an unequal size;

To disproportion me in every part,

Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp

That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be beloved?

O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!

Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,

But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such

As are of better person than myself,

I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,

And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,

Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head

Be round impaled with a glorious crown.

And yet I know not how to get the crown,

For many lives stand between me and home:

And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood,

That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,

Seeking a way and straying from the way;

Not knowing how to find the open air,

But toiling desperately to find it out,--

Torment myself to catch the English crown:

And from that torment I will free myself,

Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.

Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,

And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart,

And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

And frame my face to all occasions.

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;

I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;

I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,

Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,

And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.

I can add colours to the chameleon,

Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,

And set the murderous Machiavel to school.

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

Speak the speech, I pray you: 5 quick and dirty tips to maximize memorization

I just started my 41st speech this week. No, I'm not done yet, so don't bust out the tankards of mead and cups of sack quite yet. I've doubled up on a few (quadrupled on Hamlet), so I have handful left before I reach my goal of at least one speech from each play. I felt this a good time to begin imparting some wisdom to anyone who might be inclined to try this on their own.


1) Practice every goddamned day. I start on Sunday with a new speech. I find it is best to learn the whole thing all in one go, and then over successive days, I progressively wean myself from checking the text every other line until I get more confident with it. I tried breaking up longer speeches up into eight- or ten-line bites over four days... but very few of them are so long that I feel I must do that to keep my sanity. I did Richard III's monstrosity over several days early on in the project, but did Richard II's behemoth much more quickly. Soon enough, shorties (20 lines or less) became a piece of the proverbial cake. Cram before bed, when your brain is ripe for filing away new things. Practice in your shower. Practice in your car on your way to or from work. No one will judge you there.

2) Say it out loud. Turn your speech into an earworm. Just like a catchy song you hear fifteen times on the radio at work, the speech will follow you around better if you know how your own voice sounds reciting it. Say it without a sound. Mouthing the words without giving them voice helps develop muscle memory. You tend to exaggerate it when you voicelessly recite, but I've found it opens you up to delivering it more clearly and effortlessly when you voice it again. It's like isometric exercise for your tongue.

3) Watch or listen to actors delivering the speeches you choose. I cannot tell you how much more easy it was to memorize speeches that were already done for me. Sir Kenneth Branagh's recitation of Hamlet's fourth soliloquy ("My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!") will never sop rolling around in my brain. Ben Whishaw's Richard II sitting on the sunny shore of his England as his voice fights the breeze will forever inform my delivery of his monologue about the death of kings. I will never not think of Tom Hiddleston soliloquizing as Prince Hal in King Henry IV Part One. They are more than just pretty faces to me ;)

4) Research the character. Research the vocabulary. Never try to recite anything out of context. Find out what is supposed to be motivating the character and keep it at the forefront of your mind. For each speech, I read the corresponding chapter in Marjorie Garber's "Shakespeare After All" just so I'd recall the plot and get more in depth analysis of characters. Look up every unfamiliar word or phrase. It'll all come more naturally if you know what the bloody hell you're actually saying. Memorization is a party trick. Comprehension takes work. We're here for enrichment of our brains, not for boot camp drills.

5) Choose speeches that intrigue you. At first, this is simple. There are so many speeches on the menu. But after a while, you're bound to hit plays that don't enthuse as much as others, or you simply aren't familiar with them at all. If you can't find something that you like, you're not going to spend as much time with it and you'll lose interest. I've read every play and highlighted the bejesus out of my old paperback copy of the Complete Works, so I could always spot a passage that got my attention and analyze it for potential memorization material. If you lack such a personalized resource, I recommend checking http://www.shakespeare-monologues.org for worthy suggestions.


This will take more than 40 weeks. I don't think I'll be satisfied with myself until a year passes. I took a few breaks to give myself a chance to review old speeches and just because real life carries you away sometimes.

I've already chosen my final speech--one that I think will test all my skills and patience. It's Shakespeare's longest soliloquy, and it marks the return of that trusty bastard Richard Gloucester in his salad days during Henry VI Part Three. 71 lines of pure, uncut soliloquizing. I can't wait!

If music be the food of love, play on

Duke Orsino is in love with being in love. He's so hopelessly in love with it that he opines as he opens the play with his famous speech. It waxes with as apt a metaphor as any for that most coveted of emotional states, comparing love to plant life that must be fed--almost Audrey II-like--with so much nourishing music that it would rather die of being gorged than go without.

At the start of Twelfth Night, the Duke adores countess Olivia so much that he likens himself to a hart in the wood, passively and happily pursued by the "cruel hounds" of his desires. He lies back, awaiting Valentine, the messenger, to give him word of his beloved's condition. Unfortunately, she is so overwhelmed with grief over her brother's death that she swears to cloister herself in her chamber for seven years. Orsino, understanding and even exalting the depth of her passion expressed thusly, imagines how orgasmic things will be when she comes out of her funk and decides to focus all her affections on Orsino himself. 

For the Duke, the melancholy associated with spurned love is as exciting as love itself and he wallows in it for his own appetite's sake. He can't even get off his ass to woo this sad Olivia; he sends messengers--and even the cross-dressed Viola (calling herself Cesario)--to woo Olivia in his stead. He's so obsessed with being rejected and being in sickly sweet despair that he doesn't even notice that his boy Cesario is actually a woman who has fallen in love with him. Needless to say, all is well in the end, just as soon as the breeches and yellow cross-garters are set aside and everyone reveals their true selves.

Orsino would LOVE fandom culture if he were around today. Set him in front of a Netflix-connected TV and put on Downton Abbey or Sherlock or Doctor Who and he'll likely swoon with all the unrequited romances before him. Give him an iPad with fanfiction on it, and he'll definitely implode... or start a tumblr blog. Because being in a serious fandom is much like standing in a packed theatre watching a stirring play--they both give us an intimately shared emotional joyride. Smiles or tears, the feels alone are high fantastical.

Twelfth Night, Act I, Sc. I

Duke Orsino: If music be the food of love, play on;

Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.

Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow?

Jeremy Irons as Henry IV in BBC's Hollow Crown series

Henry IV is losing it--and by "it" I mean not just his sanity, but his hold on his own kingdom. Sure, he defeated Northumberland's rebellion and his previously disreputable son grew a set and killed Hotspur, but the Archbishop's already got a conspiracy brewing against him and both Wales and France are getting ornery. Shit is getting real, and he thinks his son has reverted back to his previous dissipation and cares not for his well-being. The exact opposite is true, but Hal knows that suddenly appearing to be concerned would look hypocritical to the max.

Still, the moment Hal is summoned with news that his father is deathly ill, he races to his bedside to be alone with him and his not-so-surprisingly deep thoughts. The supreme irony of the Henry IV plays is that Hal knows more about the burden of the crown than anybody else--save Richard II, whose experience within the "hollow crown" is intimately disillusioned for most of his play--as this quiet, touching monologue proves. I'm a bit miffed at being cheated of the whole speech in the BBC's Hollow Crown episode--I would have loved to have heard more of Tom Hiddleston's dulcet whisperings--but it catches the drift.

My favorite bit is "When thou dost pinch thy bearer, Thou dost sit like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scaldst with safety." Richard's own earlier assessment is that within the crown "Keeps Death his court... scoffing [the king's] state and grinning at his pomp," and that the mortal flesh of a king is believed to be "brass impregnable" that can in fact be breached by a "little pin." Both of these young men have realized their hard truth about power in very different ways, and it serves them with opposing results. One is deposed, the other, renowned. But they both die prematurely--one murdered, one diseased from war. Such is the price of encompassing the crown.

Between them, we peasants are privy to a unique insight about what it is to hold "divine" power.

2 King Henry IV, Act IV, Sc. V

Prince Henry: Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,

Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! sleep with it now!
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father!
This sleep is sound indeed, this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorced
So many English kings. Thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood,
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously:
My due from thee is this imperial crown,
Which, as immediate as thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,
Which God shall guard: and put the world's whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me: this from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.

I know you all...

I would be remiss not to acknowledge how much the BBC's Hollow Crown series influenced this particular choice of speech. On the brink of full-throttle fangirling over Tom Hiddleston's Loki in Thor/Avengers and his Magnus in Wallander, I fell once again into the King Henry V trap known as the "Wooing of Kate" scene. It pushed me over the edge in regards to Sir Ken, and it did the same with Hiddles. My heart had no chance. 

The Hollow Crown is a thoroughly engaging series anyway, and I highly recommend it to all who enjoy really solid acting and movie-making. The series covers the Henriad, aka Richard II, Henry IV (Parts One and Two), and Henry V. It was a treat to see the character arc of one of my favorites--Prince Hal--brought to life by a damn pretty man, who just happens to be talented as well, which is always a plus. 

The Prince of Wales appears to be a wayward son. As much is hinted at within the text of Richard II, wherein the newly-crowned Henry IV mentions that his "unthrifty son" frequents taverns and hangs out with "unrestrained loose companions," engaging in wanton, youthful activity most unprince-like. The King's chagrin continues into the next two plays as the jolly Prince Hal carouses with the likes of John Falstaff and his knobbly-nosed bosom buddies in Eastcheap amongst winos and prostitutes.

But Hal has a plan, which he deftly outlines in the first act of 1 Henry IV. His soliloquy reveals to the audience that all his delinquent behavior is an act meant to make his planned rise to the throne and subsequent sudden competency appear miraculous, therefore completely blowing his enemies' minds. Meanwhile, it's hinted later on that Hal is steeping himself in the base environs of his subjects to better understand the nuances of the commonweal and how to best relate to their motivations--presumably, a kingly tool to be wielded later as soldiers are mustered for a questionable foreign war. 

However, one cannot assume Hal's not enjoying himself immensely during his wild salad days. He's witty and loves to banter with the sack-soaked Falstaff, but knows deep down that it shall not last much longer. The beauty of these plays is the depth of the dynamic Prince's characterization and how a few key events subtly disclose Hal's inner hatred and ultimate acceptance of the ambivalence required of a king. This first speech is not yet too cynical, and full of the hope that his prodigal son project will work out in the end.

King Henry IV, First Part, Act I, Sc. II

Henry, Prince of Wales:

I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
The unyok'd humour of your idleness. 
Yet herein will I imitate the Sun, 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world, 
That, when he please again to be himself, 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays, 
To sport would be as tedious as to work; 
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, 
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
So when this loose behaviour I throw off, 
And pay the debt I never promised, 
By how much better than my word I am, 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault, 
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I'll so offend to make offense a skill, 
Redeeming time when men think least I will.

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!'