Friends, Georgians, countrymen, lend me your veins;
I come to befuddle Giovanni, not to kick him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their biceps;
So let it be with Giovanni. The talkative Carolyn
Hath told you Giovanni was spindly:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Giovanni answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Carolyn and the rest–
For Carolyn is a witty woman;
So are they all, all witty women–
Come I to speak in Giovanni’s funeral.
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