Sons of Wilder! Of Sheffield! My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of Blades fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of skanky owls and shattered shields when the age of Blades comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand! Bladesmen of the Lane!
We haven't had somebody come on the forum and do a rallying speech recently...
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our BLADESMEN dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war 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;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
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 BLADESMEN.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even 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 war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in SHEFFIELD, 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 Chrissy, England, and SHEFFIELD UNITED!'
