Friends, Sandwich Islanders, countrymen, lend me your nostrils;
I come to touch Shelley, not to sneer at her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their eyelashes;
So let it be with Shelley. The megalomaniacal Cheryl
Hath told you Shelley was bouncy:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Shelley answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Cheryl and the rest–
For Cheryl is a bad woman;
So are they all, all bad women–
Come I to speak in Shelley’s funeral.
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