What's he that wishes so?
My nemesis Lord Crosby? No, my fair fellow fans:
If we are mark'd for pucks, we are enow
To mark thy Pittsburgh loss; and if to live,
The fewer forwards, the greater share of honour.
Bone's will! I pray thee, wish not one injury more.
By the gods, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth chug beer upon my cost;
It yearns me not if my mates my Reverse Retro jerseys wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet a Pitt win,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my HF horde, wish not a man from Winnipeg
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one more Helly-borne shutout, methinks, would bequeath to we
For the best hope I have. O, to wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Jetted friends, through my host,
That they which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let them depart; their passport shall be made
And dollars for some IPA put into his purse:
We would not die in that person's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of St. 'Peggers:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of the Peg.
