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Friends, allies, fellowmen:

Lend me your ears:

I come to expose the 'Afghan',

Not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives before them,

The good is oft hidden -- in their caves -

So be it with the 'Afghan'.

The noble Georgy has told you all that 'he' is a terrorist:

If it were so it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath 'he' answered it;

Here, under leave of Georgy and the rest,

For, Georgy is an honourable man,

So are they all, all honourable men,

Come I to speak at the 'Afghan' funeral.

'He' was 'our' friend, faithful and just to 'us',

But now Georgy says 'he' is a terrorist,

And Georgy  is an honourable man.

You all did see that 10 years ago,

'They' trained and equipped 'him'

against the Russians,

And taught 'him' all the arts and guiles of  war,

Which, 'he' so deftly learned;

But Georgy now says 'he' is a terrorist,

And Bush is an honourable man.

When that the Americans have cried,

The 'Afghan' hath wept,

Terrorism should be made of sterner stuff;

Yet Georgy insists 'he' is a terrorist,

And Georgy, as you know, is an honourable man.



****************

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now:

You all did see 'this' mantle,

The first time 'he' wore,

It was on a fine summer's evening,

The day 'he' overcame the Russians.

Look and see how ran Sharon's dagger through,

See, what a rent the envious Briton made,

Through 'this' the well-beloved Georgy stabbed -

And as he plucked his cursed steel away,

Mark how the blood of the 'Afghan' followed it,

As rushing out of doors to be resolved

For ingratitude, stronger than a traitor's arm,

Quite vanquished 'him',

And then burst 'his' mighty heart.

For Bush as you know, was the 'Afghan' angel.

Judge O you God, how dearly the 'Afghan' loved him!

This was the most, unkindest cut of all…

And in his mantle, muffling up 'his' face,

Which, all the while ran blood,

The 'Afghan' fell,

What a great fall was there my fellowmen,

Then I and you and all of us fell…

While bloody treason flourished over us.

O, now you weep,

And can feel the dint of pity,

These are precious drops,

Why weep you my friends when you see the ' body',

Marred as you, by 'his' friend-turned-enemy.

**********************

O my dear, feeling  fellowmen!

You are not stones, you are not wood, but men,

And being men, hearing the 'will' of the 'Afghan'

It will inflame you and it will drive you mad,

It is good you know not that you are 'his' heirs,

For, if you should, O, what would come of it?



And they would go and kiss the 'Afghan' wounds,

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood,

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And dying mention it within their wills,

Bequeathing it as a rich legacy,

Unto their issue.

***********

Good friends, sweet friends, I must not mention the will,

Those who have done 'this deed' are honourable men,

And being honourable men,

They will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

I come not friends to steal away your hearts,

I am no orator as Georgy  is.

But a plain, blunt man, that loved a friend,

And took public leave here, to speak of him.

I have neither wits, nor words, nor worth,

Action nor utterance, nor the power of speech,

To stir men's blood:

I only speak right on,

To show you the destroyed 'Afghan' wounds -

Poor, poor dumb mouths -

And bid them speak for me.

But were I Georgy and Georgy me,

There would have been  a 'me',

Who would ruffle up your spirits,

And move the 'Buddhas' of Afghanistan,

To chaos, turmoil and mutiny.



*With apology to William Shakespeare.