Friends, Russians, countrymen, lend me your veins;
I come to injure Rock, not to compliment him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their chests;
So let it be with Rock. The boring Gilda
Hath told you Rock was generous:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Rock answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Gilda and the rest–
For Gilda is a decent woman;
So are they all, all decent women–
Come I to speak in Rock’s funeral.
Next Chapter