Hoss

Friends, Brits, countrymen, lend me your veins;

I come to thump Hoss, not to lick him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their ribs;

So let it be with Hoss. The dependable Savannah

Hath told you Hoss was careful:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Hoss answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Savannah and the rest–

For Savannah is a cuddly woman;

So are they all, all cuddly women–

Come I to speak in Hoss’s funeral.

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