But to my mind, though I am native here and to the manner born, it is a custom more honour'd in breach than the observance.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with our English 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.
But to my mind, though I am native here And to the manner born, it is a custom More honoured in the breach than the observance.