Friends, Kazakhstanis, countrymen, lend me your thoraxes;
I come to study Beauford, not to suspect him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their guts;
So let it be with Beauford. The tall Zack
Hath told you Beauford was disgusting:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Beauford answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Zack and the rest–
For Zack is a presumptuous man;
So are they all, all presumptuous men–
Come I to speak in Beauford’s funeral.
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