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’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Green.
What’s Green? It is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? that which we call a basketball
By any other word would smell as much of rubber and leather and hands;
So Draymond would, were he not Draymond call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Draymond, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.
