Sam

Friends, Frenchmen, countrymen, lend me your shoulders;

I come to trust Sam, not to escape from him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their wrists;

So let it be with Sam. The brave Juan

Hath told you Sam was depraved:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Sam answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Juan and the rest–

For Juan is a ladylike man;

So are they all, all ladylike men–

Come I to speak in Sam’s funeral.

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