Friends, Somalians, countrymen, lend me your teeth;
I come to make a face at Morris, not to pat him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their intestines;
So let it be with Morris. The gregarious Darryl
Hath told you Morris was maniacal:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Morris answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Darryl and the rest–
For Darryl is a cruel man;
So are they all, all cruel men–
Come I to speak in Morris’s funeral.
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