Friends, Kiwis, countrymen, lend me your cheeks;
I come to punish Socks, not to leave him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their midriffs;
So let it be with Socks. The intrepid Beth
Hath told you Socks was choleric:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Socks answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Beth and the rest–
For Beth is a poised woman;
So are they all, all poised women–
Come I to speak in Socks’s funeral.
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