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At this stage, I am entirely bored of the whole 'did somebody else write Shakespeare's work?' and 'did Shakespeare even exist?' arguments. Actually, the fact that I know it so well enables me to just kick back and read it for pure, unadulterated pleasure, without the slightest taint of academia clawing away at my mind. His work has resonated with me since I first studied it at school and I've returned to it time and again over the years. Instead, I'll just say that the bard is one of my favourite poets. I'm not nearly qualified enough to do so. OK, well I'm not actually going to try to review the whole of Shakespeare's poetic output, obviously. William Shakespeare, 1590-ish (disputed) Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.' 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,Ī dearer birth than this his love had brought,īut since he died, and poets better prove, O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,Ĭompare them with the bettering of the time,Īnd though they be outstripp'd by every pen, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To m If thou survive my well-contented day,
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If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men.
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