Wendell

Friends, Azerbaijanis, countrymen, lend me your feet;

I come to berate Wendell, not to talk to him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their thyroid glands;

So let it be with Wendell. The thoughtful Bruno

Hath told you Wendell was bizarre:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Wendell answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Bruno and the rest–

For Bruno is a bold man;

So are they all, all bold men–

Come I to speak in Wendell’s funeral.

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