Friends, Serbians, countrymen, lend me your skulls;
I come to punch Robin, not to berate her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their front teeth;
So let it be with Robin. The earnest Norman
Hath told you Robin was dowdy:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Robin answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Norman and the rest–
For Norman is a playful man;
So are they all, all playful men–
Come I to speak in Robin’s funeral.
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