If Marc Anthony were a Cantabrian

Friends, Kiwis, rugbymen, lend me your ears;

I come to farewell Razor, not to praise him.

The rugby that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred upon the screen;

So let it be with Razor. 

The noble David 

Hath told you Razor, was not up to it.

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Razor, answer'd it.

Here! 

Under leave of David and the rest…

For David is an honourable man;

So are they all,     

all honourable men—

Come I  to speak on Razor’s farewell.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:

But David says he was not up to it.

And David is an honourable man.

Razor hath brought many points home to Canterbury

Much joy did his wins bring…

When we won, he was joyous

When the poor have cried, Razor hath wept.

A coach should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet David says he was not up to it,

And David is an honourable man.

You all did see that on the Lancaster

Razor would consistently 

Build breadth for final championships,

Win gold when it counted.

Yet David says he was off the track

And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what David spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love Razor once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then, to miss him?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason. 

Bear with me;

My heart is wandering Lancaster Park with Razor.

And I must pause till it come back to me.

With apologies to Bill S.