Christian

Friends, Kuwaitis, countrymen, lend me your arteries;

I come to poison Christian, not to date him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their Achilles tendons;

So let it be with Christian. The ambitious Russ

Hath told you Christian was relaxed:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Christian answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Russ and the rest–

For Russ is a fierce man;

So are they all, all fierce men–

Come I to speak in Christian’s funeral.

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