Friends, Moroccans, countrymen, lend me your eyebrows;
I come to defeat André, not to satisfy him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their front teeth;
So let it be with André. The passionate Dillon
Hath told you André was decisive:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath André answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Dillon and the rest–
For Dillon is a thoughtful man;
So are they all, all thoughtful men–
Come I to speak in André’s funeral.
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