Robin

Friends, Serbians, countrymen, lend me your skulls;

I come to punch Robin, not to berate her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their front teeth;

So let it be with Robin. The earnest Norman

Hath told you Robin was dowdy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Robin answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Norman and the rest–

For Norman is a playful man;

So are they all, all playful men–

Come I to speak in Robin’s funeral.

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