Before the Battle of Agincourt, vastly outnumbered by the French, King Henry V inspires his soldiers by turning their disadvantage into a badge of honor. He creates a vision of brotherhood that transcends class.
The English army is heavily outnumbered and exhausted at Agincourt, having marched across France through disease and rain. Hours before battle, Westmoreland wishes aloud that they had ten thousand more English soldiers. Henry overhears and turns this private wish into a public address to his assembled lords (Bedford, Exeter, Salisbury, Westmoreland, Warwick, Gloucester, Talbot) — and through them to the whole army within earshot. The French are visible across the field and outnumber the English roughly five to one. The speech is delivered cold, in armour, probably in mud and rain, perhaps an hour before the cavalry charge that will become the battle. Unlike the breach speech, this is not delivered in the middle of combat — it is the speech that frames the day and gives the dying their consolation in advance.
Henry wants Westmoreland to take back his wish in front of the other lords, and he wants the army to want this battle. The transformation he attempts is psychological alchemy: turning the catastrophic odds into a privilege. Fewer men means a larger share of honour each. He does this by inventing, on the spot, the day's mythology — the future in which old soldiers will roll up their sleeves and show their scars. He is selling the listening soldiers a vision of themselves as old men, which is a brilliant move because it implies survival. Psychologically he is operating at his most sophisticated. He is also genuinely moved; the "band of brothers" coda is not cynical, even if it is strategic. The Hal who drank with Falstaff is audible in the warmth of "we few."
The pitfall is sentimentality. The speech is so beloved that actors play its reception rather than its action. Play Westmoreland. He is the target; everything is aimed at making him take back his wish, and the other lords are watching him receive it. The speech has clear movement: rebuke of Westmoreland, the proclamation about anyone who wants to leave (give them passport and crowns — this is real and means it), the vision of future old age (this is where the speech opens out into warmth), and the "we few, we happy few" coda which lands as the consequence of everything before. Don't rush "we few, we happy few, we band of brothers" — but don't milk it either; it should feel discovered, not quoted. The Crispin name-repetition is a deliberate rhetorical device; let the name accumulate. Tempo wants to be more measured than the breach speech — this is a different mode, persuasion rather than incitement. Mark the moment Westmoreland is converted; he speaks immediately after ("God's will, my liege, would you and I alone…") and you need the speech to have done its work on him before he opens his mouth.
Even more over-used than the breach speech. The "band of brothers" phrase has been so absorbed by popular culture that hearing it spoken aloud in an audition room is a high-risk move. If you do choose it, cut hard — the section from "If we are marked to die" through "happy few, we band of brothers" is the strongest twenty-five-line chunk and gives the speech's full argument. Best deployed when you have specific reason to do it (auditioning for Henry, working with a director who wants to see your verse, a callback that asks for a contrasting muscular piece). Shows: status, sustained argument, capacity to make sentiment sound earned rather than easy. Best for actors who can locate the calculation underneath the warmth; played purely as inspirational oratory it becomes recruitment-poster acting. Pair with something interior if you can.
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd 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 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,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
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,
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,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
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 accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.