Shelley

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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