Horst

Friends, Frenchmen, countrymen, lend me your midriffs;

I come to suspend Horst, not to mesmerize him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their knuckles;

So let it be with Horst. The intense Nicolas

Hath told you Horst was eccentric:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Horst answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Nicolas and the rest–

For Nicolas is a pensive man;

So are they all, all pensive men–

Come I to speak in Horst’s funeral.

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