Sig

Friends, Zambians, countrymen, lend me your lips;

I come to frustrate Sig, not to dance with him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their wigs;

So let it be with Sig. The direct Maria

Hath told you Sig was elderly:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Sig answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Maria and the rest–

For Maria is a dumb woman;

So are they all, all dumb women–

Come I to speak in Sig’s funeral.

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