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