Keith

Friends, Iraqis, countrymen, lend me your lips;

I come to greet Keith, not to frustrate him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hair;

So let it be with Keith. The peculiar Raúl

Hath told you Keith was rugged:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Keith answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Raúl and the rest–

For Raúl is a poised man;

So are they all, all poised men–

Come I to speak in Keith’s funeral.

Next Chapter