Friends, Latvians, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to giggle at Andy, not to grab him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their earlobes;
So let it be with Andy. The nervous Bubbles
Hath told you Andy was pensive:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Andy answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Bubbles and the rest–
For Bubbles is an atrocious woman;
So are they all, all atrocious women–
Come I to speak in Andy’s funeral.
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