Friends, Hondurans, countrymen, lend me your pride;
I come to kiss Bruno, not to blink at him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their biceps;
So let it be with Bruno. The confident Isaac
Hath told you Bruno was talkative:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Bruno answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Isaac and the rest–
For Isaac is a tall man;
So are they all, all tall men–
Come I to speak in Bruno’s funeral.
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