Kurt

Friends, Samoans, countrymen, lend me your collarbones;

I come to jump on Kurt, not to thump him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their mouths;

So let it be with Kurt. The stubborn Jean

Hath told you Kurt was playful:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Kurt answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Jean and the rest–

For Jean is a gargantuan woman;

So are they all, all gargantuan women–

Come I to speak in Kurt’s funeral.

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