Brad

Friends, Serbians, countrymen, lend me your mouths;

I come to recoil from Brad, not to step on him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their eyebrows;

So let it be with Brad. The awkward Ian

Hath told you Brad was emotional:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Brad answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Ian and the rest–

For Ian is an urbane man;

So are they all, all urbane men–

Come I to speak in Brad’s funeral.

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