President Obama's address to the Congress was nothing short of poetry to my ears. His ebbs
and flows were fit for a grand stage. The delivery was perfection, and his articulation and
presentation were masterful.
The Republicans sitting on their collective asses looked like mad little petty small children.
Or worse, they appeared to be selfish, self interested, jackasses who only could cross their
arms and hold a humdrum expression, while they listen to a fantastic orator take the time
once again to explain his vision.
A vision I was thrilled to hear about. President Obama was outside himself last
night. That is to say, his words were bigger than him. I felt them flowing out, from him,
and I felt his ego set aside to bring this moment to pass.
All I can say, it was right up there with the likes of William Shakespeare. It moved me, like
a classical symphony moves me, or a passionate dance, a Van Gogh painting, the sunset,
the ocean pounding against the beach, or a another speech long remembered
through the ages.
I was impressed really in so many ways with the President, and it renews my faith, he is the
right man for this moment in our history. My humble contribution below. From William
Shakespeare's Henry V:
St. Crispen's Day Speech
William Shakespeare, 1599
Enter the KING
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
KING. 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 this day is nam'd,
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 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 mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
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 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 whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
Hope you enjoy, one of my favorites, and very beautiful, we band of Kossacks......