Jim

Friends, Norwegians, countrymen, lend me your bellies;

I come to block Jim, not to confuse him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their appendixes;

So let it be with Jim. The ungainly Wesley

Hath told you Jim was cantankerous:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Jim answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Wesley and the rest–

For Wesley is a bouncy woman;

So are they all, all bouncy women–

Come I to speak in Jim’s funeral.

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