Friends, Nicaraguans, countrymen, lend me your shoulders;
I come to pulverize Brooke, not to question her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their elbows;
So let it be with Brooke. The relaxed Pallavi
Hath told you Brooke was agile:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Brooke answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Pallavi and the rest–
For Pallavi is a confident woman;
So are they all, all confident women–
Come I to speak in Brooke’s funeral.
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