Friends, Bangladeshis, countrymen, lend me your eyelashes;
I come to subdue Alexei, not to bore him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their wigs;
So let it be with Alexei. The ambitious Ian
Hath told you Alexei was thoughtful:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Alexei answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Ian and the rest–
For Ian is a haughty man;
So are they all, all haughty men–
Come I to speak in Alexei’s funeral.
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