Randy

Friends, Indians, countrymen, lend me your thighs;

I come to cuddle Randy, not to disinfect him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their guts;

So let it be with Randy. The zany Jimmie Lee

Hath told you Randy was excitable:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Randy answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Jimmie Lee and the rest–

For Jimmie Lee is a shifty man;

So are they all, all shifty men–

Come I to speak in Randy’s funeral.

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