Polly

Friends, Jamaicans, countrymen, lend me your funny bones;

I come to fight with Polly, not to peek at her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their foreheads;

So let it be with Polly. The brassy Anna

Hath told you Polly was colorless:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Polly answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Anna and the rest–

For Anna is a sarcastic woman;

So are they all, all sarcastic women–

Come I to speak in Polly’s funeral.

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