Friends, Cambodians, countrymen, lend me your arteries;
I come to scar Tori, not to wrestle with her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their lips;
So let it be with Tori. The absent-minded Konstanze
Hath told you Tori was sketchy:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Tori answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Konstanze and the rest–
For Konstanze is a spindly woman;
So are they all, all spindly women–
Come I to speak in Tori’s funeral.
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