Otto

Friends, Mozambiquans, countrymen, lend me your hairdos;

I come to doubt Otto, not to dream about him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their claws;

So let it be with Otto. The silly David

Hath told you Otto was intense:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Otto answer’d it.

Here, under leave of David and the rest–

For David is a timid man;

So are they all, all timid men–

Come I to speak in Otto’s funeral.

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