Friends, Finns, countrymen, lend me your Adam's apples;
I come to try to control Cecelia, not to punish her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their palms;
So let it be with Cecelia. The colorless Clem
Hath told you Cecelia was apoplectic:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cecelia answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Clem and the rest–
For Clem is a wicked man;
So are they all, all wicked men–
Come I to speak in Cecelia’s funeral.
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