Sophie

Friends, Macedonians, countrymen, lend me your calves;

I come to bond with Sophie, not to greet her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pituitary glands;

So let it be with Sophie. The wicked Macon

Hath told you Sophie was nonchalant:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Sophie answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Macon and the rest–

For Macon is a wicked man;

So are they all, all wicked men–

Come I to speak in Sophie’s funeral.

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