Horace

Friends, Slovakians, countrymen, lend me your throats;

I come to kick Horace, not to damage him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their heels;

So let it be with Horace. The dark Kim

Hath told you Horace was mournful:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Horace answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Kim and the rest–

For Kim is an earnest man;

So are they all, all earnest men–

Come I to speak in Horace’s funeral.

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