Sing now, O Muse: not wrath nor many tropes;
contest not how loves fame competes with Time.
Proud past attractions but attest vain hopes;
convince today, when play completes thy rhyme.
once wingèd words, then spoke, lie grounded now in print.
and Rosencrantz and Guidenstern are dead.
I would, O Muse, see sounds that spark and sprint,
words when crafted, wench, will still resound past said.
Tis just, that dust grows oer the stale bookshelf,
for twar to capture Helen now, whod go?
My loves sweet face is battlescarred itself.
I want, instead, live issues in my show.
For if bored bards of yore are yet of use,
tis but because their leaving let words loose.
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