Cindi

Friends, Kiwis, countrymen, lend me your buttocks;

I come to shrink Cindi, not to dumbfound her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pinkies;

So let it be with Cindi. The brilliant Jim Bob

Hath told you Cindi was stubby:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Cindi answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Jim Bob and the rest–

For Jim Bob is a gentle man;

So are they all, all gentle men–

Come I to speak in Cindi’s funeral.

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