Friends, Mexicans, countrymen, lend me your claws;
I come to thump Lorie, not to astonish her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their chests;
So let it be with Lorie. The hirsute Jan
Hath told you Lorie was lanky:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Lorie answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Jan and the rest–
For Jan is a thoughtful woman;
So are they all, all thoughtful women–
Come I to speak in Lorie’s funeral.
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