Mama

Friends, Albanians, countrymen, lend me your larynxes;

I come to compliment Mama, not to mislead her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their veins;

So let it be with Mama. The noble Alex

Hath told you Mama was homely:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Mama answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Alex and the rest–

For Alex is a lively man;

So are they all, all lively men–

Come I to speak in Mama’s funeral.

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