Garrett

Friends, New Guineans, countrymen, lend me your biceps;

I come to pinch Garrett, not to pulverize him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their egos;

So let it be with Garrett. The fashionable Jan

Hath told you Garrett was melancholic:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Garrett answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Jan and the rest–

For Jan is a sassy woman;

So are they all, all sassy women–

Come I to speak in Garrett’s funeral.

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