Jackson

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

I come to peck at Jackson, not to avoid him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their toes;

So let it be with Jackson. The fierce Audra

Hath told you Jackson was muddled:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Jackson answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Audra and the rest–

For Audra is a passionate woman;

So are they all, all passionate women–

Come I to speak in Jackson’s funeral.

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