God's Will!

Westmoreland: O that we had here but one ten thousand of those men in England that do no work today!

King Henry: What's he that wishes so, my cousin Westmoreland?--No, my fair cousin: if we are marked to die,
we are enow 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.
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 nam'd and rouse him at of Crispian.
He that will live to 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 what feats he did that day:
then shall our names, familiar in their mouths as household words,--Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwish and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,-- 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. for 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 while any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day.

Salisbury: My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: the French are bravely in their battles set and will all expedience charge on us.
K. Hen. All things are ready if our minds be so.
West. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!
K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?
West. God's will! my liege, would you and I alone without more help, could fight this royal battle!
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men; which likes me better than to wish us one,-- you know your places: God be with you all!