Robin

Friends, Swedes, countrymen, lend me your fingers;

I come to demean Robin, not to love him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their thighs;

So let it be with Robin. The choleric Hagit

Hath told you Robin was vacuous:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Robin answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Hagit and the rest–

For Hagit is a slimy woman;

So are they all, all slimy women–

Come I to speak in Robin’s funeral.

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