Friends, Belgians, countrymen, lend me your ribs;
I come to jab Gavin, not to dismay him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their eyes;
So let it be with Gavin. The megalomaniacal Patricia
Hath told you Gavin was corpulent:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Gavin answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Patricia and the rest–
For Patricia is a melancholic woman;
So are they all, all melancholic women–
Come I to speak in Gavin’s funeral.
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