Shane

Friends, Cameroonians, countrymen, lend me your nostrils;

I come to fight with Shane, not to poison him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their palms;

So let it be with Shane. The wily Madeline

Hath told you Shane was cheerful:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Shane answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Madeline and the rest–

For Madeline is a furious woman;

So are they all, all furious women–

Come I to speak in Shane’s funeral.

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