Jim

Friends, Venezuelans, countrymen, lend me your bellies;

I come to chat with Jim, not to pat him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pancreases;

So let it be with Jim. The pigeon-toed Eldon

Hath told you Jim was bad:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Jim answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Eldon and the rest–

For Eldon is a fashionable man;

So are they all, all fashionable men–

Come I to speak in Jim’s funeral.

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