Friends, Uruguayans, countrymen, lend me your hooves;
I come to rely on Sandra, not to awe her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their ribs;
So let it be with Sandra. The prickly Drover
Hath told you Sandra was carefree:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Sandra answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Drover and the rest–
For Drover is a queer man;
So are they all, all queer men–
Come I to speak in Sandra’s funeral.
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