Hank

Friends, Bulgarians, countrymen, lend me your pancreases;

I come to analyze Hank, not to pray for him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their toupees;

So let it be with Hank. The gregarious Morton

Hath told you Hank was coy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Hank answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Morton and the rest–

For Morton is a dapper man;

So are they all, all dapper men–

Come I to speak in Hank’s funeral.

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