Friends, Brits, countrymen, lend me your veins;
I come to thump Hoss, not to lick him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their ribs;
So let it be with Hoss. The dependable Savannah
Hath told you Hoss was careful:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Hoss answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Savannah and the rest–
For Savannah is a cuddly woman;
So are they all, all cuddly women–
Come I to speak in Hoss’s funeral.
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