Dost thou think, because there's something rotten in the state of the economy, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Fie, dismiss thy fears. We shall revel today in wholesome mirth and laughter in fulsome praise of the genius of Master Shakespeare. Sweet Bard of Avon, begetter of the finest verse and plays, who was born today and made all the world his stage.
Out, damned Spot, out, I say! No walkies today. Leave thy master amongst his boon companions sired by the most noble Shakespeare. Behold Hamlet, Prince of Denmark; greetings, King Lear; welcome, noble Antony and Cleopatra, thy beauty beyond compare. What sayst Othello, my lord? Remark the Scottish tragedy. Et tu, Brute? O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou missing, Romeo?
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances.
Alack, such is life. Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
But do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, Shakespeare's verse shall live ever young. And his plays too. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long live these and these give life to thee, Master Shakespeare.
Thou shalt live and we'll dwell on thy fabulous creations. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, that he can create works like these – prodigies of art emanating from the quill of the extraordinary Will, the incomparable Bard of Avon!
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