Charles

Friends, Equadorans, countrymen, lend me your aortas;

I come to call the cops on Charles, not to dumbfound him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their nostrils;

So let it be with Charles. The impish Patty

Hath told you Charles was muscular:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Charles answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Patty and the rest–

For Patty is a hungry woman;

So are they all, all hungry women–

Come I to speak in Charles’s funeral.

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