Spread Yourself Upon His Bosom Publicly, Whose

A Good Poet's Made As Well As Born.

To Struggle When Hope Is Banished! To Live When Life's Salt Is Gone! To Dwell In A Dream That's Vanished- To Endure, And Go Calmly On!

I Do Honor The Very Flea Of His Dog.

Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus, And The Poet's Horse Accounted: Ply It And You All Are Mounted.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause, Delight, The Wonder Of Our Stage! My Shakespeare , Rise; I Will Not Lodge Thee By Chaucer Or Spenser , Or Bid Beaumont Lie A Little Further, To Make Thee A Room; Thou Art A Monument, Without A Tomb, And Art Alive Still, While Thy Book Doth Live, And We Have Wits To Read , And Praise To Give .