What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Wojackmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If Rubic is mark'd to dump, we are enough
To do hold our bags; and if to pump ,
The fewer bros, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one bro more.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a bro from /biz/:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one bro more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Wojackmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to hold his bad,
Let him depart; his bags shall be bought
And bitcoins for convoy put into his purse:
We would not hold in that bro's company
That fears his wallet to hold with us.
This day is called the feast of Alexandra:
He that holds this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Alexandra.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Alexandra:'
Then will he bear his phone and show his scars.
And say 'These losses I had on Alexandra’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
Pepe the king, Vladimir and -slav,
Alexandr and Sergey, Daniil and George,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Alexandra Korneva shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that holds his bags with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And bros on biz now a-posting
Shall think themselves accursed they did not hold,
And hold their bags of shitcoins heavy whiles any speaks
That held with us upon Saint Alexandra’s day.