Friends, Cambodians, countrymen, lend me your skins;
I come to correct Rosa, not to text her.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their scalps;
So let it be with Rosa. The slimy Sean
Hath told you Rosa was hirsute:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Rosa answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Sean and the rest–
For Sean is a jaunty man;
So are they all, all jaunty men–
Come I to speak in Rosa’s funeral.
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