Desmond

Friends, Tibetans, countrymen, lend me your toenails;

I come to needle Desmond, not to frown at him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their big toes;

So let it be with Desmond. The anemic Phil

Hath told you Desmond was enchanting:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Desmond answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Phil and the rest–

For Phil is a masculine man;

So are they all, all masculine men–

Come I to speak in Desmond’s funeral.

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