Friends, villagers, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come to bury these ladies, and to praise them!
So wise so young, they say never live long, yet I am nearly done to death by this slanderous deed- for what is life without the fair maidens Shelob and Abercrombie? Mine chivalry is affronted, for I, the noblest Knight of this land, was powerless to assist them!
Alas, poor lasses! I knew them well, good villagers.
Though these deaths be madness, yet there is method in 't! We need but find the method and we find these things of darkness!
This is the unkindest cut of all, that we have no madness of yet in which to find a method. Let every villager negotiate for himself his defence. The course of Werewolf-hunting did never run smooth. O, what Werewolves dare do! Are not many done to death by slanderous tongue? Here's ado to lock up honesty!
Remember: Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once! How poor are they that have not patience...
Something is rotten in the village of Eaumor!
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I prefer history, true or feigned.
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