Leonard Digges, 1623 (1588-1635)
“To the Memorie of the deceased Author, Maister W. Shakespeare.”
Shakespeare, at length thy pious fellows give
The world thy Works: thy Works, by which, out-live
Thy Tomb, thy name must: when that stone is rent,
And Time dissolves thy Stratford Monument,
Here we alive shall view thee still. This Book,
When brass and marble fade, shall make thee look
Fresh to all ages: when posterity
Shall loath what’s new, thinke all is prodigy
That is not Shakespeare’s; ev’ry line, each verse,
Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy hearse.
Nor fire, nor cankering age, as Naso said,
Of his, thy wit-fraught Book, shall once invade.
Nor shall I e’er believe, or think thee dead
(Though missed), until our bankrout Stage be sped
(Impossible) with some new strain t’ out-do
Passions of Juliet, and her Romeo;
Or till I hear 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 expressed,
Be sure, our Shakespeare, thou canst never die,
But crown’d with laurel, live eternally.
Prefixed to the First Folio Edition of Shakespeare’s Works. 1623.