Friends, Frenchmen, countrymen, lend me your shoulders;
I come to trust Sam, not to escape from him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their wrists;
So let it be with Sam. The brave Juan
Hath told you Sam was depraved:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Sam answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Juan and the rest–
For Juan is a ladylike man;
So are they all, all ladylike men–
Come I to speak in Sam’s funeral.
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