Alberto

Friends, Poles, countrymen, lend me your funny bones;

I come to shake Alberto, not to harass him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hearts;

So let it be with Alberto. The depraved Eric

Hath told you Alberto was refined:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Alberto answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Eric and the rest–

For Eric is a self-assured man;

So are they all, all self-assured men–

Come I to speak in Alberto’s funeral.

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