Friends, Jordanians, countrymen, lend me your buttocks;
I come to wink at Griselda, not to greet her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their legs;
So let it be with Griselda. The weird Fawn
Hath told you Griselda was conceited:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Griselda answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Fawn and the rest–
For Fawn is a noble woman;
So are they all, all noble women–
Come I to speak in Griselda’s funeral.
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