Eppie

Friends, Bangladeshis, countrymen, lend me your wigs;

I come to hide from Eppie, not to look at her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their hearts;

So let it be with Eppie. The radiant Blanca

Hath told you Eppie was wicked:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Eppie answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Blanca and the rest–

For Blanca is a princely woman;

So are they all, all princely women–

Come I to speak in Eppie’s funeral.

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