Anne

Friends, Dutch, countrymen, lend me your kidneys;

I come to cover Anne, not to text her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their mouths;

So let it be with Anne. The prissy Deborah

Hath told you Anne was prissy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Anne answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Deborah and the rest–

For Deborah is a happy woman;

So are they all, all happy women–

Come I to speak in Anne’s funeral.

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