Friends, Venezuelans, countrymen, lend me your bellies;
I come to chat with Jim, not to pat him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their pancreases;
So let it be with Jim. The pigeon-toed Eldon
Hath told you Jim was bad:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Jim answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Eldon and the rest–
For Eldon is a fashionable man;
So are they all, all fashionable men–
Come I to speak in Jim’s funeral.
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