Anton

Friends, Belizians, countrymen, lend me your tummies;

I come to sing to Anton, not to care for him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their funny bones;

So let it be with Anton. The somber Alison

Hath told you Anton was gallant:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Anton answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Alison and the rest–

For Alison is a statuesque woman;

So are they all, all statuesque women–

Come I to speak in Anton’s funeral.

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