Joanie

Friends, Moroccans, countrymen, lend me your pride;

I come to play with Joanie, not to pat her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their tails;

So let it be with Joanie. The excitable Candy

Hath told you Joanie was fiendish:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Joanie answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Candy and the rest–

For Candy is a spindly woman;

So are they all, all spindly women–

Come I to speak in Joanie’s funeral.

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