Joan

Friends, Bolivians, countrymen, lend me your pieholes;

I come to sneer at Joan, not to lick her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their toupees;

So let it be with Joan. The thoughtful Doug

Hath told you Joan was conceited:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Joan answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Doug and the rest–

For Doug is a naïve man;

So are they all, all naïve men–

Come I to speak in Joan’s funeral.

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