Once more unto the breach, dear friends...

Kicking and screaming, I am dragged back into the fray.

Didn't want to. Didn't mean to. But it is, as Kant notes, a Moral Imperative, no matter how hopeless I might reckon the effort.

But not here. Instead, HERE: at his vorpal sword, and at The Commonwealth of Blogistan. (They're NOT the same blog.) I also cross-post at numinous other sites.

Gentlemen in England now abed will hold their manhood cheap that did not blog here with us upon Saint Crispin's Day. (Or, HERE)

KING HENRY V (Wm. Shakespeare)

Act 3. Scene I

SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur.

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders

KING HENRY:

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 .... [MORE]

Courage. Grrrr.