Noel

Friends, Laotians, countrymen, lend me your pancreases;

I come to confront Noel, not to fry him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bladders;

So let it be with Noel. The agitated Ying

Hath told you Noel was generous:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Noel answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Ying and the rest–

For Ying is a bad woman;

So are they all, all bad women–

Come I to speak in Noel’s funeral.

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