(SCENE: Alarums, in the background a sheet of ice. Enter CLAUDE JULIEN, ZDENO CHARA, and the BOSTON BRUINS, in full battle armour and carrying hockey sticks.)
Once more unto the ice, dear team-mates, once more;
Or close the Garden up with our Cup run dead.
In the off-season there's nothing so becomes a player
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of the goal-horn blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the bear;
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 visor
Like the blue-line cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled Marchand
Outskate and out-hit his confounded opponents,
Swill'd with the wild and furious powerplay.
Now set the gumshield and stretch the nostrils wide,
Hold hard the breath and flex up every stick
To his full height!.
On, on, you noblest Bruins!.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of Orr-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Big Bad Bruins,
Have in these rinks from morn till even fought
And sheathed their sticks only for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your fans; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to teams of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war.
And you, good Bergeron,
Whose limbs were made in Canada, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your Selke Trophies; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre on your line.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start.