Friends, Frenchmen, countrymen, lend me your buttocks;
I come to bore Gladys, not to mock her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their midriffs;
So let it be with Gladys. The bald Grover
Hath told you Gladys was yappy:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Gladys answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Grover and the rest–
For Grover is a bold man;
So are they all, all bold men–
Come I to speak in Gladys’s funeral.
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