Ying

Friends, Mozambiquans, countrymen, lend me your arteries;

I come to smile at Ying, not to rely on her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their pinkies;

So let it be with Ying. The brazen Arnold

Hath told you Ying was cheerful:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Ying answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Arnold and the rest–

For Arnold is a ladylike man;

So are they all, all ladylike men–

Come I to speak in Ying’s funeral.

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