Friends, Norwegians, countrymen, lend me your arteries;
I come to lick Nookie, not to berate her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their knees;
So let it be with Nookie. The vivacious Sig
Hath told you Nookie was elderly:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Nookie answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Sig and the rest–
For Sig is a masculine man;
So are they all, all masculine men–
Come I to speak in Nookie’s funeral.
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