This is a sonnet that Kris Green and I wrote. We decided to do something different and follow the sonnet structure while making it into a dialogue. This is a hypothetical conversation between Westmoreland and the King. Obviously, this is not word-for-word what happens in the play, but we did our best to capture the essence of the speech.
W: O that we had but one ten thousand more.
K: For what need have we for that kind of man?
W: We are outnumbered, almost ten to four!
K: No matter, they are not of our brave clan.
W: Some say it be sin to covet honour.
K: Better honour than avarice and gold.
W: Despite this, it doth make my gut feel sour.
K: Die for glory now, or wait till you're old.
W: Right, now. Let us write a tale for the ages.
K: Our men shall bear these honourable scars,
W: It is with blood that we will ink the pages,
K:The myth shall be told in lyrics of bards
K: A tale of we few, we happy few, away
K: Fighting for glory on Saint Crispin’s Day!
W = Westmoreland
K = King
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