Parson

Friends, Luxembourgans, countrymen, lend me your legs;

I come to trust Parson, not to giggle at him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their teeth;

So let it be with Parson. The naïve Darcy

Hath told you Parson was solitary:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Parson answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Darcy and the rest–

For Darcy is a creepy woman;

So are they all, all creepy women–

Come I to speak in Parson’s funeral.

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