Kyra

Friends, Serbians, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to hug Kyra, not to confront her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their veins;

So let it be with Kyra. The noble Knuckles

Hath told you Kyra was hungry:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Kyra answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Knuckles and the rest–

For Knuckles is a gargantuan man;

So are they all, all gargantuan men–

Come I to speak in Kyra’s funeral.

Next Chapter