Tex

Friends, Maltese, countrymen, lend me your tummies;

I come to glare at Tex, not to manipulate him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their fingernails;

So let it be with Tex. The modest Charlie

Hath told you Tex was brave:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Tex answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Charlie and the rest–

For Charlie is a lively man;

So are they all, all lively men–

Come I to speak in Tex’s funeral.

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