Griselda

Friends, Jordanians, countrymen, lend me your buttocks;

I come to wink at Griselda, not to greet her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their legs;

So let it be with Griselda. The weird Fawn

Hath told you Griselda was conceited:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Griselda answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Fawn and the rest–

For Fawn is a noble woman;

So are they all, all noble women–

Come I to speak in Griselda’s funeral.

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