Kurt

Friends, Egyptians, countrymen, lend me your waists;

I come to kiss Kurt, not to soothe him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pieholes;

So let it be with Kurt. The modest Nan

Hath told you Kurt was modest:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Kurt answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Nan and the rest–

For Nan is a mournful woman;

So are they all, all mournful women–

Come I to speak in Kurt’s funeral.

Next Chapter