Friends, Rovers, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury manure, not to praise them.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with manure. The nob'ead scum
Hath told you manure were ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath manure answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Glazer and the press -
For Glazer is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men -
Come I to speak at manure's funeral.
They weren't my friends - scum, and not just to me:
But Glazer says he is ambitious;
And Glazer is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Tampa
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in manure seem suspicious?
When that the poor have cried, manure hath laughed:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Glazer says he was ambitious;
And Glazer is an honourable man.
You all did see that at the Buccaneers
Who oft presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did never refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Glazer says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Glazer spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did hate him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to worship him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish @#/?s,
And manure have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My laughter is in the coffin there with manure,
And I must hope it doesn't come back to me.