Friends, Brucie, mudcatters, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Onions, not to praise them.
The onions in mens mouths do live after them;
The aroma is oft emitted with their bones;
So let it be with Onions. The noble Brucie
Hath told you Onions are delicious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath the onion answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brucie will digest-
For Brucie is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men -
Come I to speak at the Onion's baking.
it was my lunch, bitter and sharp to me:
But Brucie says he was delicious;
And Brucie is an honourable man.
He hath brought many mudcatters in to roam
Whose rantings did the cyber coffers fill:
Did this poor Onion seem delicious?
When that the poor have cried, Onions hath wept:
Digestion should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brucie says he was delicious;
And Brucie is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brucie spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love onions once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for them?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the baking dish there with onions,
And I must pause till it come back to me...

Mark and Tony (burp)