Louise

Friends, Belgians, countrymen, lend me your nostrils;

I come to draw strength from Louise, not to soothe her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their big toes;

So let it be with Louise. The zany Heather

Hath told you Louise was bilious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Louise answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Heather and the rest–

For Heather is a frightened woman;

So are they all, all frightened women–

Come I to speak in Louise’s funeral.

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