Candy

Friends, Guatemalans, countrymen, lend me your big toes;

I come to joke with Candy, not to imitate her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their spines;

So let it be with Candy. The wily Beatrice

Hath told you Candy was hirsute:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Candy answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Beatrice and the rest–

For Beatrice is a comely woman;

So are they all, all comely women–

Come I to speak in Candy’s funeral.

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