Vince

Friends, Moroccans, countrymen, lend me your esophaguses;

I come to isolate Vince, not to damage him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their arms;

So let it be with Vince. The wary Francisco

Hath told you Vince was calm:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Vince answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Francisco and the rest–

For Francisco is a difficult man;

So are they all, all difficult men–

Come I to speak in Vince’s funeral.

Next Chapter