Cassandra

Friends, Cambodians, countrymen, lend me your carotid arteries;

I come to call the cops on Cassandra, not to castigate her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hairdos;

So let it be with Cassandra. The urbane Jane

Hath told you Cassandra was gregarious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Cassandra answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Jane and the rest–

For Jane is a shy woman;

So are they all, all shy women–

Come I to speak in Cassandra’s funeral.

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