Andy

Friends, Latvians, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to giggle at Andy, not to grab him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their earlobes;

So let it be with Andy. The nervous Bubbles

Hath told you Andy was pensive:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Andy answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Bubbles and the rest–

For Bubbles is an atrocious woman;

So are they all, all atrocious women–

Come I to speak in Andy’s funeral.

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