White Cloud

Friends, Bahrainis, countrymen, lend me your lips;

I come to berate White Cloud, not to push him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their big toes;

So let it be with White Cloud. The pensive Bull

Hath told you White Cloud was humble:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath White Cloud answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Bull and the rest–

For Bull is an intelligent man;

So are they all, all intelligent men–

Come I to speak in White Cloud’s funeral.

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