Roy

Friends, Lithuanians, countrymen, lend me your cheeks;

I come to scratch Roy, not to doubt him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hangnails;

So let it be with Roy. The big Gretchen

Hath told you Roy was fierce:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Roy answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Gretchen and the rest–

For Gretchen is a happy woman;

So are they all, all happy women–

Come I to speak in Roy’s funeral.

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