Milton

Friends, Albanians, countrymen, lend me your livers;

I come to tantalize Milton, not to break him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their knuckles;

So let it be with Milton. The tactful Diane

Hath told you Milton was angry:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Milton answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Diane and the rest–

For Diane is an atrocious woman;

So are they all, all atrocious women–

Come I to speak in Milton’s funeral.

Next Chapter