Jim Bob

Friends, Zambians, countrymen, lend me your pinkies;

I come to poison Jim Bob, not to operate on him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their tails;

So let it be with Jim Bob. The crafty Kathryn

Hath told you Jim Bob was weary:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Jim Bob answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Kathryn and the rest–

For Kathryn is a colorless woman;

So are they all, all colorless women–

Come I to speak in Jim Bob’s funeral.

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