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  honor
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  honor,
As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from  me,
For  the  best  hope  I  have.    0,  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  tiptoe  when  this  day  is  nam'd,
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian.
