Hagit

Friends, Turks, countrymen, lend me your horns;

I come to poison Hagit, not to cuddle her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their funny bones;

So let it be with Hagit. The tired Marissa

Hath told you Hagit was athletic:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Hagit answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Marissa and the rest–

For Marissa is a crazy woman;

So are they all, all crazy women–

Come I to speak in Hagit’s funeral.

Next Chapter