Chris

Friends, Czechs, countrymen, lend me your legs;

I come to stump Chris, not to dump her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their front teeth;

So let it be with Chris. The cunning Roy

Hath told you Chris was cautious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Chris answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Roy and the rest–

For Roy is a polite man;

So are they all, all polite men–

Come I to speak in Chris’s funeral.

Next Chapter