Friends, Kosovoans, countrymen, lend me your claws;
I come to belittle Roy, not to harass him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their collarbones;
So let it be with Roy. The tactful Natalie
Hath told you Roy was yappy:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Roy answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Natalie and the rest–
For Natalie is a tense woman;
So are they all, all tense women–
Come I to speak in Roy’s funeral.
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