Jeanne

Friends, Germans, countrymen, lend me your appendixes;

I come to care for Jeanne, not to fool her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their shoulders;

So let it be with Jeanne. The pigeon-toed Wayne

Hath told you Jeanne was modest:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Jeanne answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Wayne and the rest–

For Wayne is a slimy man;

So are they all, all slimy men–

Come I to speak in Jeanne’s funeral.

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