André

Friends, Moroccans, countrymen, lend me your eyebrows;

I come to defeat André, not to satisfy him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their front teeth;

So let it be with André. The passionate Dillon

Hath told you André was decisive:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath André answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Dillon and the rest–

For Dillon is a thoughtful man;

So are they all, all thoughtful men–

Come I to speak in André’s funeral.

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