This day is call’d the feast of Wincest.
He that outlives ship wars, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Wincest.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Winchester.’
Then will he bare his chest and show his scars,
And say ‘These wounds I had on Wincest’s day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What fics he read that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
BewaretheIdes, Candle Beck,
Kansaskissedlips, Nyxocity and Deanplease-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Supernatural shall ne’er be watched,
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 ships Wincest with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
Wincest shall gentle his condition;
And shippers in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their Tumblrs cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Wincest’s day.