Roscoe

Friends, Brazilians, countrymen, lend me your eyebrows;

I come to needle Roscoe, not to chase him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their fingers;

So let it be with Roscoe. The petulant Deena

Hath told you Roscoe was stern:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Roscoe answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Deena and the rest–

For Deena is a cunning woman;

So are they all, all cunning women–

Come I to speak in Roscoe’s funeral.

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