Kopites, RAWKites, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to consider Luis, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their transfers;
So let it be with Luis. The noble Blatter
Hath told you Luis was brutish:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Luis answer'd it.
There, under leave of Blatter and the rest--
For Blatter is an honourable man;
So are they all, FIFA, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Luis's leaving do.
He was my hero, faithful and just to me:
But Blatter says he was brutish;
And Blatter is an honourable man.
He hath scored many goals here at home
Whose aspirations did these goals fulfil?
Did this in Luis seem ambitious?
When that the ‘Pool have cried, Luis hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Blatter says he was brutish;
And Blatter is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the December 13th
He was presented with the kingly armband…
Which he did return to Agger: was this ambition?
Yet Barcelona says he is ambitious;
And, sure, they are honourable men.
I speak not to disprove what Blatter spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the Camp Nou there with Luis,
And I must pause till it come back to me.