Ye that with me have fought and failed and fought
To the last desperate trench of battle's crest,
Not yet to sleep, not yet; our work is nought;
On that last trench the fate of all may rest,
Draw near, my friends; and let your thoughts be high;
Great hearts are glad when it is time to give;
Life is no life to him that dares not die,
And death no death to him that dares to live.
Draw near together; none be last or first;
We are no longer names, but one desire;
With the same burning of the soul we thirst,
And the same wine to-night shall quench our fire.
Drink! to our fathers who begot us men,
To the dead voices that are never dumb;
Then to the land of all our loves, and then
To the long parting, and the age to come.
Attention English press and English people. All this bitching and moaning about your rugby side when you still have a game to play is embarrassing and unseemly. You should all get together to offer full-throated support to England in their last World Cup game against Uruguay. You owe them at least that before moving on to the inevitable time-honoured tradition of ritual human sacrifice that accompanies the passing of the torch in any of your national teams.
Prodnose: So there!
Myself: That'll learn 'em.