Friends, Equadorans, countrymen, lend me your elbows;
I come to hide from Matilda, not to look at her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their heads;
So let it be with Matilda. The radiant Sheryl
Hath told you Matilda was petulant:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Matilda answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Sheryl and the rest–
For Sheryl is a hungry woman;
So are they all, all hungry women–
Come I to speak in Matilda’s funeral.
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