Rosa

Friends, Cambodians, countrymen, lend me your skins;

I come to correct Rosa, not to text her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their scalps;

So let it be with Rosa. The slimy Sean

Hath told you Rosa was hirsute:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Rosa answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Sean and the rest–

For Sean is a jaunty man;

So are they all, all jaunty men–

Come I to speak in Rosa’s funeral.

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