Friends, Bulgarians, countrymen, lend me your elbows;
I come to mock Brandie, not to smile at her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their palms;
So let it be with Brandie. The cruel Giselle
Hath told you Brandie was shiftless:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Brandie answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Giselle and the rest–
For Giselle is an apoplectic woman;
So are they all, all apoplectic women–
Come I to speak in Brandie’s funeral.
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