Wilbur

Friends, Kosovoans, countrymen, lend me your tails;

I come to shake Wilbur, not to believe him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their abdomens;

So let it be with Wilbur. The friendly Gabriela

Hath told you Wilbur was shy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Wilbur answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Gabriela and the rest–

For Gabriela is a prissy woman;

So are they all, all prissy women–

Come I to speak in Wilbur’s funeral.

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