Howard

Friends, Irish, countrymen, lend me your bladders;

I come to go out with Howard, not to mislead him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hearts;

So let it be with Howard. The lanky Bull

Hath told you Howard was funny:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Howard answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Bull and the rest–

For Bull is a friendly man;

So are they all, all friendly men–

Come I to speak in Howard’s funeral.

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