Friends, Kiwis, countrymen, lend me your hooves;
I come to analyze Clarisa, not to befuddle her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their lungs;
So let it be with Clarisa. The jolly Lars
Hath told you Clarisa was sleek:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Clarisa answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Lars and the rest–
For Lars is an articulate man;
So are they all, all articulate men–
Come I to speak in Clarisa’s funeral.
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