Linda

Friends, Hungarians, countrymen, lend me your spines;

I come to talk to Linda, not to look at her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their ribs;

So let it be with Linda. The queer Ying

Hath told you Linda was anemic:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Linda answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Ying and the rest–

For Ying is a phlegmatic woman;

So are they all, all phlegmatic women–

Come I to speak in Linda’s funeral.

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