Clarabell

Friends, Indonesians, countrymen, lend me your little toes;

I come to pinch Clarabell, not to believe her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their necks;

So let it be with Clarabell. The statuesque Christian

Hath told you Clarabell was disagreeable:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Clarabell answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Christian and the rest–

For Christian is a quiet man;

So are they all, all quiet men–

Come I to speak in Clarabell’s funeral.

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