Ryan

Friends, Macedonians, countrymen, lend me your toes;

I come to investigate Ryan, not to pin him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their faces;

So let it be with Ryan. The haughty Clive

Hath told you Ryan was clever:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Ryan answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Clive and the rest–

For Clive is a fuzzy man;

So are they all, all fuzzy men–

Come I to speak in Ryan’s funeral.

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