Lance

Friends, Swedes, countrymen, lend me your legs;

I come to ostracize Lance, not to remember him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their knees;

So let it be with Lance. The somber Jessica

Hath told you Lance was young:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Lance answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Jessica and the rest–

For Jessica is a prickly woman;

So are they all, all prickly women–

Come I to speak in Lance’s funeral.

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