Andrea

Friends, Laotians, countrymen, lend me your eyelashes;

I come to stump Andrea, not to doubt her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their arms;

So let it be with Andrea. The dark George

Hath told you Andrea was frightened:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Andrea answer’d it.

Here, under leave of George and the rest–

For George is a resolute man;

So are they all, all resolute men–

Come I to speak in Andrea’s funeral.

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