Friends, Jamaicans, countrymen, lend me your buttocks;
I come to care for Buster, not to push him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their Achilles tendons;
So let it be with Buster. The portly Roy
Hath told you Buster was forgetful:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Buster answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Roy and the rest–
For Roy is a cowardly man;
So are they all, all cowardly men–
Come I to speak in Buster’s funeral.
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