Socks

Friends, Kiwis, countrymen, lend me your cheeks;

I come to punish Socks, not to leave him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their midriffs;

So let it be with Socks. The intrepid Beth

Hath told you Socks was choleric:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Socks answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Beth and the rest–

For Beth is a poised woman;

So are they all, all poised women–

Come I to speak in Socks’s funeral.

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