Craig

Friends, Belizians, countrymen, lend me your wigs;

I come to glare at Craig, not to scratch him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their calves;

So let it be with Craig. The enthusiastic Clem

Hath told you Craig was portly:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Craig answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Clem and the rest–

For Clem is an apoplectic man;

So are they all, all apoplectic men–

Come I to speak in Craig’s funeral.

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