Thad

Friends, Easter Islanders, countrymen, lend me your foreheads;

I come to lose Thad, not to write him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their collarbones;

So let it be with Thad. The homely Wendell

Hath told you Thad was bald:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Thad answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Wendell and the rest–

For Wendell is a heavyset man;

So are they all, all heavyset men–

Come I to speak in Thad’s funeral.

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