Constance

Friends, Venezuelans, countrymen, lend me your spines;

I come to exclude Constance, not to kill her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their noses;

So let it be with Constance. The fashionable Edward

Hath told you Constance was portly:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Constance answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Edward and the rest–

For Edward is a hirsute man;

So are they all, all hirsute men–

Come I to speak in Constance’s funeral.

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