Quentin

Friends, Cubans, countrymen, lend me your Adam's apples;

I come to text Quentin, not to poison him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their knees;

So let it be with Quentin. The somber Valerie

Hath told you Quentin was bad:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Quentin answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Valerie and the rest–

For Valerie is a shy woman;

So are they all, all shy women–

Come I to speak in Quentin’s funeral.

Next Chapter