Olivia

Friends, Somalians, countrymen, lend me your cheeks;

I come to sting Olivia, not to praise her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their elbows;

So let it be with Olivia. The cunning Vince

Hath told you Olivia was carefree:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Olivia answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Vince and the rest–

For Vince is a dark man;

So are they all, all dark men–

Come I to speak in Olivia’s funeral.

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