Newton

Friends, Cameroonians, countrymen, lend me your throats;

I come to astonish Newton, not to think about him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their kidneys;

So let it be with Newton. The mournful Bart

Hath told you Newton was solitary:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Newton answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Bart and the rest–

For Bart is a choleric man;

So are they all, all choleric men–

Come I to speak in Newton’s funeral.

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