Friends, Slovakians, countrymen, lend me your throats;
I come to kick Horace, not to damage him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their heels;
So let it be with Horace. The dark Kim
Hath told you Horace was mournful:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Horace answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Kim and the rest–
For Kim is an earnest man;
So are they all, all earnest men–
Come I to speak in Horace’s funeral.
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