Last week, presidential candidate and Republican nominee-presumptive Donald Trump decided to put on a more presidential tone. He gave a speech on foreign policy, won some primaries, and knocked the other Republican candidates out of the race. So it seems that through the will of the People, he has a shot at being President of the United States. However, is he, say, king material? Last month we took a look at what would happen were Donald Trump to give the Gettysburg Address. This month, in honor of the 400th Anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death, let’s see how the Donald would deliver the Bard’s incredibly moving and powerful St. Crispin’s Day Speech from Henry V.
“TRUMP. Hold on, hold on, who wants us to have more men here? Chris Christie? Chris, you’re a great guy but get a grip, look at all the special people we’ve got here with us, these are my people the best people, just the best. If we’re gonna die – and we’re not, in fact, you know what, we’re gonna win – but IF we were, say, to die, think about what the haters would have to say: they’d say we were great, and that’s what I want for everyone, just to be super great. I’m not here for money, because I don’t need it, because, look, I’ve got billions. Billions. And clothes? I’ve got suits that cost more than this whole army, so don’t talk to me about clothes, or money, or anything, because look at me. No, seriously, Chris, look at me: this is what a winner looks like. Let me tell you what I do want: I do want to make America great again, and I want that so bad, and so that’s why I’m going to win. I’m just going to do that, and keep doing it, and I’ll do it outnumbered, and with all the haters calling me names, and I’ll use all my own money, and it will just be so special. And if there’s anyone here who thinks we can’t be great again, just get ’em outta here. Kick ’em out. I don’t want that. It’s sad. Sad! I don’t want to be seen with these losers, so just send them away if they think we can’t make this place great.
Today, well, today is really, really special. It’s yuge. I hear it’s some big holiday, Saint Crispy or something, I don’t know how to say it, it sounds foreign, but it’s a really big deal. And someday, after we look back, and we’ve won here, and I’ve made this place a Trump certified landmark, with lights, and gold, and just all the most special things, those people with us – they’re just the best – those people will be able to come here and say, “I wasn’t a loser. Look at my scars, look at this. I did this, with Trump.” And everyone is going to be so proud, and so happy, because this is what we’re all about: winning. And I don’t care who you are, you’re going to remember the absolutely tremendous amount of winning we did.
Okay, so I know there’s not a lot of us, but look, you’re my people, okay? And you’re the best people – I’ve got the best people – because today, if you are with me, you’re like family, you really are. I don’t care who you are, your background, your party, whatever, you’re with me, you’re my people. And the losers who called us weak? Who didn’t care to come out of their establishment holes and bring back what this country has lost? Well they’re not even men anymore, they’re like little girls, like wimpy little girls, little silly disabled girls, crying to their mommas. That makes me sick, I want men who can win, who want to win, who want to be men. And when anyone talks about what we did, right here, right now, how we won so much, then they’re going to feel just terrible, just awful when they even hear someone say the name of today, whatever it is – I forget the name, it’s just too silly sounding, but I know this, it’ll be yuge.”
And the original, for…perspective.
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 Crispin’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.
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