Ling

Friends, Uruguayans, countrymen, lend me your arms;

I come to fight with Ling, not to kill her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pituitary glands;

So let it be with Ling. The melancholic Andie

Hath told you Ling was bad:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Ling answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Andie and the rest–

For Andie is a weary woman;

So are they all, all weary women–

Come I to speak in Ling’s funeral.

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