Charlene

Friends, Mozambiquans, countrymen, lend me your horns;

I come to chat with Charlene, not to tantalize her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their wrists;

So let it be with Charlene. The crafty Sierra

Hath told you Charlene was crafty:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Charlene answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Sierra and the rest–

For Sierra is a poised woman;

So are they all, all poised women–

Come I to speak in Charlene’s funeral.

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