Friends, Americans, countrymen, lend me your thighs;
I come to leave Camella, not to subdue her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their funny bones;
So let it be with Camella. The choleric Bradley
Hath told you Camella was earnest:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Camella answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Bradley and the rest–
For Bradley is a crazy man;
So are they all, all crazy men–
Come I to speak in Camella’s funeral.
Next Chapter