Will

Friends, Mongolians, countrymen, lend me your skins;

I come to chat with Will, not to question him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their heels;

So let it be with Will. The bubbly Jenny

Hath told you Will was sociable:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Will answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Jenny and the rest–

For Jenny is a grizzled woman;

So are they all, all grizzled women–

Come I to speak in Will’s funeral.

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