Carey

Friends, Azerbaijanis, countrymen, lend me your spines;

I come to arrest Carey, not to pat her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their horns;

So let it be with Carey. The crafty Paula

Hath told you Carey was shiftless:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Carey answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Paula and the rest–

For Paula is a wicked woman;

So are they all, all wicked women–

Come I to speak in Carey’s funeral.

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