Belle

Friends, Russians, countrymen, lend me your throats;

I come to subdue Belle, not to block her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hands;

So let it be with Belle. The lazy Malcolm

Hath told you Belle was ignoble:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Belle answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Malcolm and the rest–

For Malcolm is a dumb man;

So are they all, all dumb men–

Come I to speak in Belle’s funeral.

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