Jacques

Friends, Salvadorans, countrymen, lend me your knuckles;

I come to wrestle with Jacques, not to stalk him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their ankles;

So let it be with Jacques. The cantankerous Brett

Hath told you Jacques was bad:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Jacques answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Brett and the rest–

For Brett is a melancholic man;

So are they all, all melancholic men–

Come I to speak in Jacques’s funeral.

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