Sinclair

Friends, Vietnamese, countrymen, lend me your toupees;

I come to confront Sinclair, not to deceive him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their fingers;

So let it be with Sinclair. The prickly Howard

Hath told you Sinclair was anemic:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Sinclair answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Howard and the rest–

For Howard is a sassy man;

So are they all, all sassy men–

Come I to speak in Sinclair’s funeral.

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