Luann

Friends, Congolese, countrymen, lend me your jaws;

I come to chat with Luann, not to overlook her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pieholes;

So let it be with Luann. The articulate White Cloud

Hath told you Luann was dumb:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Luann answer’d it.

Here, under leave of White Cloud and the rest–

For White Cloud is a shy man;

So are they all, all shy men–

Come I to speak in Luann’s funeral.

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