Dominant and sterile. Perhaps unapproachable.

thank you

You genuinely don't even have to change very much besides the proper nouns and historical references. His heart is in the coffin there with Lianfang-zun. :(

Friends, masters, common men, lend me your ears; I come to bury Xiandu, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Xiandu. Great Hanguang-jun Hath told you Xiandu was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Xiandu answer'd it. Here, under leave of both Twin Jades of Lan-- For Zewu-jun's an honourable man; So are they both, both honourable men-- Come I to speak in Xiandu's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Hanguang-jun says he's ambitious; And Hanguang-jun's an honourable man. He hath built many towers in your towns Whose presence does the general public guard: Did this in Xiandu seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Xiandu hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Hanguang-jun said he's ambitious; And Hanguang-jun's an honourable man. You all did see that through his too-brief reign He wore the scholar's cap and not a crown, To show he lived to serve: was this ambition? Yet Hanguang-jun says he's ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Wangji 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 coffin there with Xiandu, And I must pause till it come back to me.

By Langston Hughes Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.) Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above. (It never was America to me.) O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.") Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become. O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa's strand I came To build a "homeland of the free." The free? Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we've dreamed And all the songs we've sung And all the hopes we've held And all the flags we've hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that's almost dead today. O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people's lives, We must take back our land again, America! O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be! Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!