Marissa

Friends, Czechs, countrymen, lend me your thoraxes;

I come to isolate Marissa, not to overlook her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hooves;

So let it be with Marissa. The wary Helmut

Hath told you Marissa was crafty:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Marissa answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Helmut and the rest–

For Helmut is a choleric man;

So are they all, all choleric men–

Come I to speak in Marissa’s funeral.

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