He Is Winding The Watch Of His

Through Tattered Clothes, Small Vices Do Appear. Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All.

Be Bloody, Bold, And Resolute; Laugh To Scorn The Power Of Man.

The Play's The Thing, Wherein I'll Catch The Conscience Of The King.

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.

A Happy Ending Cannot Come In The Middle Of The Story