George

Friends, Belgians, countrymen, lend me your belly buttons;

I come to annoy George, not to trick him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their lips;

So let it be with George. The wizened Sinclair

Hath told you George was high-strung:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath George answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Sinclair and the rest–

For Sinclair is a jolly man;

So are they all, all jolly men–

Come I to speak in George’s funeral.

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