This day is call'd the feast of Epstein. 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 Epstein. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Epstein.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Epstein'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- Pedro the King, Nomar and Manny, Ortiz and Nixon, Mueller and Millar- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Theo Epstein 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 New 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 Epstein's day.
