By the way

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 tip-toe when the 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,
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
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 remember'd.
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,



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Update:
Wenn´s mal nicht Shakespeare sein soll:

The execution of Crispin and Crispinian (25 Oct), with spurting blood, from Canterbury MS @BLMedieval Arundel 91: pic.twitter.com/b9yBXADubl
— Clerk of Oxford (@ClerkofOxford) October 25, 2013