Beatrice

Friends, Czechs, countrymen, lend me your hairdos;

I come to think about Beatrice, not to spank her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their scalps;

So let it be with Beatrice. The young Liz

Hath told you Beatrice was insane:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Beatrice answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Liz and the rest–

For Liz is a prissy woman;

So are they all, all prissy women–

Come I to speak in Beatrice’s funeral.

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