Brooke

Friends, Nicaraguans, countrymen, lend me your shoulders;

I come to pulverize Brooke, not to question her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their elbows;

So let it be with Brooke. The relaxed Pallavi

Hath told you Brooke was agile:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Brooke answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Pallavi and the rest–

For Pallavi is a confident woman;

So are they all, all confident women–

Come I to speak in Brooke’s funeral.

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