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