Merna

Friends, Mongolians, countrymen, lend me your Adam's apples;

I come to spit at Merna, not to scar her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their little fingers;

So let it be with Merna. The frightened Drover

Hath told you Merna was big:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Merna answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Drover and the rest–

For Drover is a perky man;

So are they all, all perky men–

Come I to speak in Merna’s funeral.

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