Kirsten

Friends, Irish, countrymen, lend me your guts;

I come to kiss Kirsten, not to embarrass her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their antennae;

So let it be with Kirsten. The rapacious Erin

Hath told you Kirsten was intrepid:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Kirsten answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Erin and the rest–

For Erin is a conceited woman;

So are they all, all conceited women–

Come I to speak in Kirsten’s funeral.

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