Friends, Swedes, countrymen, lend me your fingers;
I come to demean Robin, not to love him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their thighs;
So let it be with Robin. The choleric Hagit
Hath told you Robin was vacuous:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Robin answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Hagit and the rest–
For Hagit is a slimy woman;
So are they all, all slimy women–
Come I to speak in Robin’s funeral.
Next Chapter