Friends, Albanians, countrymen, lend me your appendixes;
I come to kick Marcus, not to compliment him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their heels;
So let it be with Marcus. The arrogant Bones
Hath told you Marcus was intrepid:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Marcus answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Bones and the rest–
For Bones is a masculine man;
So are they all, all masculine men–
Come I to speak in Marcus’s funeral.
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