Britt

Friends, Samoans, countrymen, lend me your toenails;

I come to replace Britt, not to sneer at him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bladders;

So let it be with Britt. The frumpy Anton

Hath told you Britt was daring:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Britt answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Anton and the rest–

For Anton is a stinky man;

So are they all, all stinky men–

Come I to speak in Britt’s funeral.

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