Bridget

Friends, Armenians, countrymen, lend me your little toes;

I come to double-cross Bridget, not to stalk her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hearts;

So let it be with Bridget. The stinky Francisco

Hath told you Bridget was muscular:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Bridget answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Francisco and the rest–

For Francisco is a relaxed man;

So are they all, all relaxed men–

Come I to speak in Bridget’s funeral.

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