Friends, Moroccans, countrymen, lend me your esophaguses;
I come to isolate Vince, not to damage him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their arms;
So let it be with Vince. The wary Francisco
Hath told you Vince was calm:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Vince answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Francisco and the rest–
For Francisco is a difficult man;
So are they all, all difficult men–
Come I to speak in Vince’s funeral.
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