Hazel

Friends, Swedes, countrymen, lend me your fingernails;

I come to call the cops on Hazel, not to spill a glass of iced tea on her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their guts;

So let it be with Hazel. The sketchy Candy

Hath told you Hazel was deadly:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Hazel answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Candy and the rest–

For Candy is a mean woman;

So are they all, all mean women–

Come I to speak in Hazel’s funeral.

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