Henry

Friends, Bermudans, countrymen, lend me your ribs;

I come to trust Henry, not to jab him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their chins;

So let it be with Henry. The boring Rip

Hath told you Henry was hairy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Henry answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Rip and the rest–

For Rip is a difficult man;

So are they all, all difficult men–

Come I to speak in Henry’s funeral.

Next Chapter