ON SHAKESPEARE'S HOUSE
Round rock standing steady, always.
Oh, the Shakespeare Gardens, in a birthday
honor, they are everywhere today!. Finay!
Araho! Who makes up a word when any
word will do? It's all new! The ancient
language in a newer tongue: 'But m'lord,
should I thee find but sitting here, wouldst
I know thy home, alone. Solely by my
selfsame sighting? This senseless, idle
bower wherein ye dwell, all your hopes
and dreams within this tidy hospice?
Fie? How then?' The man, I saw,
sat back and laughed, to say: 'Ha!
Take ye then this idle pence and -
anon! - now go away! - This be
only now and singly here my pleasure.
Then get thee hence from me.'
Round. Rock. Standing. Steady.
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