Friends, Bangladeshis, countrymen, lend me your bladders;
I come to chat with Kami, not to stump her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their hangnails;
So let it be with Kami. The intrepid Gillian
Hath told you Kami was shifty:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Kami answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Gillian and the rest–
For Gillian is a dismal woman;
So are they all, all dismal women–
Come I to speak in Kami’s funeral.
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