Knuckles

Friends, Senegalese, countrymen, lend me your shoulders;

I come to malign Knuckles, not to quote him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pieholes;

So let it be with Knuckles. The urbane Kirby

Hath told you Knuckles was jolly:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Knuckles answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Kirby and the rest–

For Kirby is a tense man;

So are they all, all tense men–

Come I to speak in Knuckles’s funeral.

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