Arnold

Friends, Cambodians, countrymen, lend me your skulls;

I come to judge Arnold, not to astonish him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their little fingers;

So let it be with Arnold. The sensible Sharice

Hath told you Arnold was cantankerous:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Arnold answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Sharice and the rest–

For Sharice is a fuzzy woman;

So are they all, all fuzzy women–

Come I to speak in Arnold’s funeral.

Next Chapter