Friends, Zambians, countrymen, lend me your lips;
I come to frustrate Sig, not to dance with him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their wigs;
So let it be with Sig. The direct Maria
Hath told you Sig was elderly:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Sig answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Maria and the rest–
For Maria is a dumb woman;
So are they all, all dumb women–
Come I to speak in Sig’s funeral.
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