Edna

Friends, Irish, countrymen, lend me your thoraxes;

I come to bump Edna, not to banish her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their elbows;

So let it be with Edna. The articulate Lynn

Hath told you Edna was bouncy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Edna answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Lynn and the rest–

For Lynn is a moody man;

So are they all, all moody men–

Come I to speak in Edna’s funeral.

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