Fawn

Friends, Kuwaitis, countrymen, lend me your nostrils;

I come to lie to Fawn, not to scream at her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their ribs;

So let it be with Fawn. The playful Will

Hath told you Fawn was slimy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Fawn answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Will and the rest–

For Will is a jolly man;

So are they all, all jolly men–

Come I to speak in Fawn’s funeral.

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