Buster

Friends, Jamaicans, countrymen, lend me your buttocks;

I come to care for Buster, not to push him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their Achilles tendons;

So let it be with Buster. The portly Roy

Hath told you Buster was forgetful:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Buster answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Roy and the rest–

For Roy is a cowardly man;

So are they all, all cowardly men–

Come I to speak in Buster’s funeral.

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