Thelma

Friends, Mozambiquans, countrymen, lend me your pancreases;

I come to caress Thelma, not to tickle her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their knuckles;

So let it be with Thelma. The haughty Winnie

Hath told you Thelma was disorganized:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Thelma answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Winnie and the rest–

For Winnie is an ungainly woman;

So are they all, all ungainly women–

Come I to speak in Thelma’s funeral.

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