Friends, Germans, countrymen, lend me your eyes;
I come to mock Winnie, not to slap her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their thyroid glands;
So let it be with Winnie. The childish Kurt
Hath told you Winnie was timid:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Winnie answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Kurt and the rest–
For Kurt is a witty man;
So are they all, all witty men–
Come I to speak in Winnie’s funeral.
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