Polly

Friends, Swedes, countrymen, lend me your midriffs;

I come to malign Polly, not to ridicule her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their gall bladders;

So let it be with Polly. The emotional Noel

Hath told you Polly was stinky:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Polly answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Noel and the rest–

For Noel is a deadly man;

So are they all, all deadly men–

Come I to speak in Polly’s funeral.

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