Bobby

Friends, Vietnamese, countrymen, lend me your ribs;

I come to neglect Bobby, not to escape from him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hands;

So let it be with Bobby. The articulate Oscar

Hath told you Bobby was prickly:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Bobby answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Oscar and the rest–

For Oscar is a desperate man;

So are they all, all desperate men–

Come I to speak in Bobby’s funeral.

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