Friends, Serbians, countrymen, lend me your mouths;
I come to recoil from Brad, not to step on him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their eyebrows;
So let it be with Brad. The awkward Ian
Hath told you Brad was emotional:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Brad answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Ian and the rest–
For Ian is an urbane man;
So are they all, all urbane men–
Come I to speak in Brad’s funeral.
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