Dillon

Friends, Brazilians, countrymen, lend me your spines;

I come to sit on Dillon, not to call the cops on him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their collarbones;

So let it be with Dillon. The somber Dick

Hath told you Dillon was puzzled:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Dillon answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Dick and the rest–

For Dick is a young man;

So are they all, all young men–

Come I to speak in Dillon’s funeral.

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