Jordan

Friends, Ugandans, countrymen, lend me your belly buttons;

I come to believe in Jordan, not to lick him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their skulls;

So let it be with Jordan. The happy Chloe

Hath told you Jordan was dependable:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Jordan answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Chloe and the rest–

For Chloe is an impish woman;

So are they all, all impish women–

Come I to speak in Jordan’s funeral.

Next Chapter