Morris

Friends, Somalians, countrymen, lend me your teeth;

I come to make a face at Morris, not to pat him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their intestines;

So let it be with Morris. The gregarious Darryl

Hath told you Morris was maniacal:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Morris answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Darryl and the rest–

For Darryl is a cruel man;

So are they all, all cruel men–

Come I to speak in Morris’s funeral.

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