
Jannies, chuds, farmers, lend me your ears
I come to bury Marty, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them
The good is oft interred with their bones
So let it be with Marty. The noble Nullus
Hath told you Marty was a troublemaker.
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Marty answer’d it.
He was an a-log, a showman and a streamer.
But Nullus says he also was a faggot;
And Nullus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many superchats from Serbia
Which did the general coffers fill.
When Cyraxx hath cried, Marty hath LOLd.
You all did see that on the stream
I thrice presented him a clownly wig
Which he did thrice refuse: was this faggotry?
Yet Nullus says he was a faggot;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Nullus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all despised him once, not without cause:
What cause would move you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Marty,
And I must pause till it comes back to me.