Willard

Friends, Nicaraguans, countrymen, lend me your scalps;

I come to dump Willard, not to double-cross him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their teeth;

So let it be with Willard. The melancholic Beauford

Hath told you Willard was playful:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Willard answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Beauford and the rest–

For Beauford is a hirsute man;

So are they all, all hirsute men–

Come I to speak in Willard’s funeral.

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