Andy

Friends, Kuwaitis, countrymen, lend me your earlobes;

I come to lie to Andy, not to scream at him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their ribs;

So let it be with Andy. The sassy Doralene

Hath told you Andy was lethargic:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Andy answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Doralene and the rest–

For Doralene is a cowardly woman;

So are they all, all cowardly women–

Come I to speak in Andy’s funeral.

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