Drill Sergeant: Brother Benitez, New York! You study Shakespeare?
Benitez: Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!
Drill Sergeant: Alright, let me hear some. (Pause) I said I want to her some! Let’s go!
Benitez: He that lives….
Drill Sergeant: Come on! What! What was that? I can’t hear it, c’mon! Go!
Benitez: He that outlives this day and comes safe home will stand a tiptoe when this day is named and rouse him at the name of Crispian.
Drill Sergeant: I didn’t tell you to stop. Keep going, keep going! Go!
Benitez: He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours and say ‘Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.’ Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars and say ‘These wounds I had on St. 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 his house as household words -- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, be in their flowing cups, freshly remembered. And 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 remembered -- we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; 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. That enough, Drill Sergeant?
Drill Sergeant: Yes, Benitez. Good.