Friends, Equadorans, countrymen, lend me your aortas;
I come to call the cops on Charles, not to dumbfound him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their nostrils;
So let it be with Charles. The impish Patty
Hath told you Charles was muscular:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Charles answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Patty and the rest–
For Patty is a hungry woman;
So are they all, all hungry women–
Come I to speak in Charles’s funeral.
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