Woody

Friends, Azerbaijanis, countrymen, lend me your thumbs;

I come to doubt Woody, not to analyze him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hearts;

So let it be with Woody. The happy Trixie

Hath told you Woody was happy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Woody answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Trixie and the rest–

For Trixie is a sociable woman;

So are they all, all sociable women–

Come I to speak in Woody’s funeral.

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