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Once more unto the breach dear friends
By Patgadd
August 11 2017

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;  Or close the wall up with our Warrior dead. 

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the rugby blast blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest Warriors
Whose blood is fet from fathers of the game!
Fathers that, like so many Donnchas,
Have in these parts for eighty minutes fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to play. And you, good players,
Whose limbs were trained in Worcester, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Gary, Worcester, and Saint Bryce!'