Pennsic 45: Riling up the Rapier Champions

When I became Queen's Bard, I was told that one of the things I could do as Bard was rile up the Champions at Pennsic.  The Unbelted rattan champions have their own thing going with Mistress Aneleda, and the Archery Champions never told me whether they wanted to be riled up, but I did a Thing for the Rapier Champions.

I started with Henry V's speech before the walls of Harfleur from Shakespeare's play of the same name (Act III, scene 1):

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,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

And then I worked mischief to it to make it more resonant for SCA purposes and to take out things that wouldn't be meaningful to SCAdians, like the "grosser blood" of those not nobly born.   I hope that Shakespeare isn't rolling in his grave.

Here's what I came up with, and croaked out with failing voice to the Champions on Sunday afternoon:

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 actions of the Tyger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To your full height.  On, on you noblest tygers
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexandres [hair flip]
have in these parts from morn 'til even fought.
Go face now the folk in Dragon's red
And teach them how to war!
    And you, brave tygers, 
Whose limbs were in Eastrealm made, show us here
the mettle of your rapiers, which I doubt not.
For there is none of you so mean and base 
That hath not war-like lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips
Straining upon the start.  The game's afoot!
Follow your spirit and upon this charge:
For Avelina, Kenric and the East!