Yttriun

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 they my body use.
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive...

They to-day that sheds their blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen 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 this day...

Let me speak proudly, we are but warriors of the working day
our happiness and our guilt are all besmirched
With rainy marching in the painful field
but by the mass our hearts are in the trim...
come no more for ransom thee shall have none i swear,