Marty

Friends, Argentinians, countrymen, lend me your egos;

I come to bore Marty, not to irritate him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their spleens;

So let it be with Marty. The elderly Coleen

Hath told you Marty was stylish:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Marty answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Coleen and the rest–

For Coleen is a shiftless woman;

So are they all, all shiftless women–

Come I to speak in Marty’s funeral.

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