Friends, Kiwis, countrymen, lend me your buttocks;
I come to shrink Cindi, not to dumbfound her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their pinkies;
So let it be with Cindi. The brilliant Jim Bob
Hath told you Cindi was stubby:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cindi answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Jim Bob and the rest–
For Jim Bob is a gentle man;
So are they all, all gentle men–
Come I to speak in Cindi’s funeral.
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