by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
Translation by François-Victor Hugo (1828 - 1873)
O that we now had here
Language: English
WESTMORELAND. [ O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day!]1 KING (Henry V). [ What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin. If we are marked to die, we are enough 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.]1 This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this 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 Crispian's day." Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember [with advantages]1 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 rememb'red.]1 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,]1 But we in it shall be remembered, 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 accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. SALISBURY [My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us.]1 KING (Henry V). [All things are ready, if our minds be so.]1
About the headline (FAQ)
View original text (without footnotes)1 omitted by Cumming.
Authorship:
- by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), no title, appears in Henry V, Act IV, Scene 3 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Richard Jackson Cumming (b. 1928), "The Feast of Crispian", 1963, published 1969 [ medium voice and piano ], from We Happy Few, no. 1, note: this setting begins with the line "This day is call'd the feast of Crispian" and ends with the line "That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day." [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Joel Weiss , "St. Crispin's Day", 2013 [ voice and piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (François-Victor Hugo) , no title
- POL Polish (Polski) (Józef Ignacy Kraszewski) , no title
Researcher for this page: Barbara Miller
This text was added to the website: 2005-06-22
Line count: 61
Word count: 470
Oh ! que n’avons‑nous ici pour le moment
Language: French (Français)  after the English
WESTMORELAND. Oh ! que n’avons-nous ici pour le moment dix mille de ces hommes d’Angleterre qui ne font rien aujourd’hui ! LE ROI HENRY. Qui donc émet ce vœu ? Mon cousin Westmoreland ! Non, mon beau cousin : si nous sommes marqués pour mourir, nous sommes assez pour le désastre de notre patrie ; et si nous survivons, moins nous serons, plus grande sera la part d’honneur. Vive Dieu ! je t’en prie, ne souhaite pas un homme de plus. Par Jupiter ! je n’ai pas la cupidité de l’or, et peu m’importe qu’on vive à mes frais ; je ne suis pas désolé que d’autres usent mes habits ; ces choses extérieures ne comptent guère dans mes désirs ; mais, si c’est un péché de convoiter l’honneur, je suis le plus coupable des vivants. Non, ma foi, mon petit cousin, ne souhaite pas un Anglais de plus. Jour de Dieu ! je ne voudrais pas perdre d’un si grand honneur ce qu’il en faudrait partager avec un homme de plus ; non, pour les plus belles promesses de l’avenir ! Oh ! n’en souhaite pas un de plus, Westmoreland. Fais plutôt proclamer dans nos rangs que celui qui n’est pas en appétit de combattre peut partir : il lui sera délivré un passe-port, et remis de l’argent pour le voyage. Nous ne voudrions pas mourir en compagnie d’un homme qui a peur d’être notre camarade de mort. Ce jour est appelé la fête de saint Crépin : celui qui aura survécu à cette journée et sera rentré chez lui sain et sauf, se redressera sur ses talons chaque fois qu’on parlera de ce jour, et se grandira au seul nom de saint Crépin. Celui qui aura vu cette journée et atteint un grand âge, chaque année, à la veille de cette fête, traitera ses amis et dira : C’est demain la Saint-Crépin ! Alors, il retroussera sa manche et montrera ses cicatrices. Le vieillard oublie ; mais il aura tout oublié qu’il se rappellera encore avec emphase ses exploits dans cette journée. Alors nos noms familiers à toutes les bouches comme des mots de ménage, le roi Harry, Bedford, Exeter, Warwick, Talbot, Salisbury et Glocester, retentiront fraîchement au choc des coupes écumantes. Le bonhomme apprendra cette histoire à son fils. Et la Saint-Crépin ne reviendra jamais, d’aujourd’hui à la fin du monde, sans qu’on se souvienne de nous, de notre petite bande, de notre heureuse petite bande de frères ! Car celui qui aujourd’hui versera son sang avec moi, sera mon frère ; si vile que soit sa condition, ce jour l’anoblira. Et les gentilshommes aujourd’hui dans leur lit en Angleterre regarderont comme une malédiction de ne pas s’être trouvés ici, et feront bon marché de leur noblesse, quand ils entendront parler l’un de ceux qui auront combattu avec nous au jour de la Saint-Crépin ! SALISBURY. Mon souverain seigneur, préparez-vous vite. Les Français sont superbement rangés en bataille et vont nous charger avec emportement. LE ROI HENRY. Tout est prêt, si nos cœurs le sont.
About the headline (FAQ)
Authorship:
- by François-Victor Hugo (1828 - 1873), no title [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Based on:
- a text in English by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), no title, appears in Henry V, Act IV, Scene 3
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- [ None yet in the database ]
Researcher for this page: Guy Laffaille [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2016-01-14
Line count: 60
Word count: 508