Winnie

Friends, Germans, countrymen, lend me your eyes;

I come to mock Winnie, not to slap her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their thyroid glands;

So let it be with Winnie. The childish Kurt

Hath told you Winnie was timid:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Winnie answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Kurt and the rest–

For Kurt is a witty man;

So are they all, all witty men–

Come I to speak in Winnie’s funeral.

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