Hake-speare, at length thy pious fellowes giueThe world thy Workes: thy Workes, by which, out liueThy Tombe, thy name must, when that stone is rent,And Time dissolues thy Stratford Moniment,Here we aliue shall view thee still. This Booke,When Brasse and Marble fade, shall all make thee lookeFresh to all Ages: when PosteritieShall loath what's new, thinke all is prodegieThat is not Shake-speares; eu'ry Line,each VerseHere shall reuiue, redeeme thee from thy Herse.Nor Fire, nor cankring Age, as Naso said,Of his, thy wit-fraught Booke shall 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-doPassions 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 restShall with more fire, more feeling be exprest,Be sure, our Shake-speare, thou canst neuer dye,But crown'd with Lawrell, liue eternally.L. Digges.
Hake-speare, at length thy pious fellowes giueThe world thy Workes: thy Workes, by which, out liueThy Tombe, thy name must, when that stone is rent,And Time dissolues thy Stratford Moniment,Here we aliue shall view thee still. This Booke,When Brasse and Marble fade, shall all make thee lookeFresh to all Ages: when PosteritieShall loath what's new, thinke all is prodegieThat is not Shake-speares; eu'ry Line,each VerseHere shall reuiue, redeeme thee from thy Herse.Nor Fire, nor cankring Age, as Naso said,Of his, thy wit-fraught Booke shall 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-doPassions 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 restShall with more fire, more feeling be exprest,Be sure, our Shake-speare, thou canst neuer dye,But crown'd with Lawrell, liue eternally.L. Digges.
Hake-speare, at length thy pious fellowes giueThe world thy Workes: thy Workes, by which, out liueThy Tombe, thy name must, when that stone is rent,And Time dissolues thy Stratford Moniment,Here we aliue shall view thee still. This Booke,When Brasse and Marble fade, shall all make thee lookeFresh to all Ages: when PosteritieShall loath what's new, thinke all is prodegieThat is not Shake-speares; eu'ry Line,each VerseHere shall reuiue, redeeme thee from thy Herse.Nor Fire, nor cankring Age, as Naso said,Of his, thy wit-fraught Booke shall 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-doPassions 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 restShall with more fire, more feeling be exprest,Be sure, our Shake-speare, thou canst neuer dye,But crown'd with Lawrell, liue eternally.L. Digges.