Hugh

Friends, Rwandans, countrymen, lend me your calves;

I come to sing to Hugh, not to kill him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their paws;

So let it be with Hugh. The happy Newt

Hath told you Hugh was ladylike:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Hugh answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Newt and the rest–

For Newt is a quiet man;

So are they all, all quiet men–

Come I to speak in Hugh’s funeral.

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