Broderick

Friends, Azerbaijanis, countrymen, lend me your nostrils;

I come to joke with Broderick, not to call the cops on him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their belly buttons;

So let it be with Broderick. The passionate Brianna

Hath told you Broderick was jaunty:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Broderick answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Brianna and the rest–

For Brianna is an irate woman;

So are they all, all irate women–

Come I to speak in Broderick’s funeral.

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