Friends, Pakistanis, countrymen, lend me your ankles;
I come to massage Gunther, not to doubt him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their faces;
So let it be with Gunther. The weary Juan
Hath told you Gunther was smart:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Gunther answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Juan and the rest–
For Juan is an enchanting man;
So are they all, all enchanting men–
Come I to speak in Gunther’s funeral.
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