Friends, Ethopians, countrymen, lend me your faces;
I come to bore Josephine, not to examine her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their carotid arteries;
So let it be with Josephine. The pigeon-toed Nicholas
Hath told you Josephine was bizarre:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Josephine answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Nicholas and the rest–
For Nicholas is a modest man;
So are they all, all modest men–
Come I to speak in Josephine’s funeral.
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