Friends, Swedes, countrymen, lend me your fingernails;
I come to call the cops on Hazel, not to spill a glass of iced tea on her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their guts;
So let it be with Hazel. The sketchy Candy
Hath told you Hazel was deadly:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Hazel answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Candy and the rest–
For Candy is a mean woman;
So are they all, all mean women–
Come I to speak in Hazel’s funeral.
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