Tommy

Friends, Dutch, countrymen, lend me your knuckles;

I come to frown at Tommy, not to appease him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their buttocks;

So let it be with Tommy. The enchanting Dillon

Hath told you Tommy was dismal:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Tommy answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Dillon and the rest–

For Dillon is a yappy man;

So are they all, all yappy men–

Come I to speak in Tommy’s funeral.

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