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I have a household name, but I won't tell
As telling you, my old learned and young friend
Is not the virtue the theatre would sell
Nor the ancient chorus would ever amend.
I have a fame, that glorious eternal life
Not of the bookshelves, but of rising Sun,
for whom the night is the lovers' sweet time,
half self and selfish not half to be banned.
I have a power to make you cry
of sad stories and joyful alike
of young wisdom reaching the smiling sky
of old arrogance, star-crossed to be spiked.
Have I lived before? Or my barren rhymes?
Always and forever like Death never dies.
Now, in the Shakespearean language:
I has't a household name, but I won't telleth
As telling thee, mine fusty learned and young cousin
Is not the virtue the theatre would selleth
Nor the ancient chorus would ever amend.
I has't a fame, that glorious eternal life
Not of the bookshelves, but of rising Sun,
for whom the night is the lovers' sweet time,
half self and selfish not half to beest banned.
I has't a power to maketh thee cry
of depress'd stories and joyful alike
of young wisdom reaching the smiling sky
of fusty arrogance, star-crossed to beest spiked.
Has't I hath lived ere? Or mine barren rhymes?
At each moment and still like Death nev'r dies.
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