Bruce

Friends, Iraqis, countrymen, lend me your spinal cords;

I come to trip Bruce, not to defeat him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their thighs;

So let it be with Bruce. The blubbery Margaret

Hath told you Bruce was grizzled:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Bruce answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Margaret and the rest–

For Margaret is an apoplectic woman;

So are they all, all apoplectic women–

Come I to speak in Bruce’s funeral.

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