Friends, Bulgarians, countrymen, lend me your pancreases;
I come to analyze Hank, not to pray for him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their toupees;
So let it be with Hank. The gregarious Morton
Hath told you Hank was coy:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Hank answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Morton and the rest–
For Morton is a dapper man;
So are they all, all dapper men–
Come I to speak in Hank’s funeral.
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