Friends, Jalops, countrymen, lend me your gears; I come to praise the Volvo, not to bury it. The evil that voters do lives after it; The good is oft interred with their valves; Let it not be with Volvo! The noble Voters Hath told you Volvos were ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Volvo answer'd it. Here, under leave of Voters and the rest — For Voters are an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men — Come I to speak in Volvo's funeral. It was my ride, faithful and just to me: But Voters say it was ambitious; And Voters are an honourable man. He hath brought many Astons home to Forza Whose cylinders did the home theatre systems fill: Did this in Volvo seem ambitious? When that the drivers have wreck'd, Volvo hath saved them: Ambition should be made of more dangerous stuff: Yet Voters say it was ambitious; And Voters are an honourable man. You all did see that on the Jalopnik We twice presented it a Forza crown, Which it did next refuse: was this ambition? Yet Voters say it was ambitious; And, sure, they are an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Voters spoke, But here I am to vote what I do know. You all did love it once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for it? O judgment! thou art fled to brutish BMWs, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with 850 T5-R, And I must pause till it come back to me.

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