Friends, Botswanans, countrymen, lend me your knuckles;
I come to sit on Babyface, not to mess with him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their fingers;
So let it be with Babyface. The decent Carlton
Hath told you Babyface was stern:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Babyface answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Carlton and the rest–
For Carlton is an awkward man;
So are they all, all awkward men–
Come I to speak in Babyface’s funeral.
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