Emily

Friends, Bulgarians, countrymen, lend me your ribs;

I come to laugh at Emily, not to confront her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their shins;

So let it be with Emily. The sleepy Kitten

Hath told you Emily was lanky:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Emily answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Kitten and the rest–

For Kitten is a sleepy woman;

So are they all, all sleepy women–

Come I to speak in Emily’s funeral.

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