When the subject of "who wrote Shakespeare's plays" comes up, this video is a fair representation of what you're told about the controversy.
The controversy is waved off as merely down to intellectual snobbery - an uneducated man couldn't be the greatest writer of all-time. And just in case you don't find that retort satisfying, well remember that the people who are quick to dismiss any conspiracy theories will also tell you it also doesn't really matter. Well why'd you bring it up at all?
But it isn't intellectual snobbery to think that a man living in the late 1500's, with little or no education, and who owned no books, could have "a profound knowledge of English, Latin, Greek and Italian as well as a deep and wide knowledge of history, mythology and multiple subjects like jurisprudence, military matters, foreign geography, seamanship amongst much else."
In fact, the official story sounds pretty ridiculous, when you really look at it.
Once again, celebrating The Feast of St. Crispin, this time in the Year of Our Lord 2024. Last year I considered celebrating the Feast aspect. Not sure. Perhaps a Succulent Chinese Meal is in order. Probably not.
Now, soldiers, march away: And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day.
You know, St. Crispin's Day is also referred to as The Feast of St. Crispin. I've never considered the feast aspect. Probably won't do it. My heart isn't in it.
About this time every year people are probably looking forward to the bigger holiday that happens next week (Reformation Day). But we shouldn't overlook St. Crispin's Day. St. Crispin's Day is the day wear we all appreciate Brian Blessed's chainmail fashion and mourn the loss of Davy Gam.
Ahh October 25th is here again. 'Tis the season for holding your manhood cheap and the time to appreciate Brian Blessed in chainmail. And all things are ready if our minds be so.
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day!
KING. What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin; If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian'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- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
