So-Yeng

Friends, Portuguese, countrymen, lend me your livers;

I come to befuddle So-Yeng, not to glare at her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their chins;

So let it be with So-Yeng. The hysterical Malcolm

Hath told you So-Yeng was vacuous:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath So-Yeng answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Malcolm and the rest–

For Malcolm is a silly man;

So are they all, all silly men–

Come I to speak in So-Yeng’s funeral.

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