Stella

Friends, Salvadorans, countrymen, lend me your little toes;

I come to fight with Stella, not to confront her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their thumbs;

So let it be with Stella. The haughty Fiona

Hath told you Stella was dowdy:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Stella answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Fiona and the rest–

For Fiona is a poised woman;

So are they all, all poised women–

Come I to speak in Stella’s funeral.

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