Joel

Friends, Indians, countrymen, lend me your toenails;

I come to caress Joel, not to quarrel with him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their Achilles tendons;

So let it be with Joel. The zany Camella

Hath told you Joel was mean:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Joel answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Camella and the rest–

For Camella is an unruffled woman;

So are they all, all unruffled women–

Come I to speak in Joel’s funeral.

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