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TO THE MEMORIE of the deceaſed Authour Maiſter
W. Shakespeare.
SHake-ſpeare, at length thy pious fellowes giue
The world thy Workes: thy Workes by which, out line
Thy Tombe, thy name muſt when that ſtone is rent,
And Time diſſolues thy Stratford Muniment,
Here we aliue ſhall view thee ſtill. This Booke,
When Braſſe and Marble fade, ſhall make thee looke
Freſh to all Ages: when Poſtertie
Shall loath what's new,thinke all'is prodegie
That is not Shake-ſpeares; eu'ry line,each Verſe
Here ſhall reuiue, redeeme thee from thy Herſe.
Nor Tire,nor cankring Age,as Naſo ſaid,
Of his,thy wit-fraught Book eſhall once inuade.
Nor ſhall I e're beleeue, or thinke thee dead
(Though miſt) vntill our bankrout Stage be ſped
(Impoſsible) with ſome new ſtraine t'out-do
Paſsions of Iuliet,and her Romeo;
Or till I heare a Scene more nobly take,
Then when thy half Sword parlying Romans ſpake.
Till theſe,till any of thy Volumes reſt
Shall with more fire,more feeling be expreſt,
Be ſure,our Shakespeare, thou canſt neuer dye,
But crown'd with Lawrell,liue eternally.
L.Digges.
To the memorie of M.W. Shake-ſpeare.
WEE wondred (Shake-ſpeare) that thou went'ſt ſo ſoone
From the Worlds>Stage,to the Graues-Tyring-roome.
Wee thought thee dead, but this thy printed toorth,
Tels thy Spectators,that thou went'ſt but forth
To enter faith applauſe. An Actors Art,
Can dye,and line,to acte a ſecond part.
That's but an Exit of Mortalitie;
This, a Re-entrance to a Plaudite.
