Epilogue Poem by Adrian Murphy

Like star crossed lovers, with my true love I came
And there in fair Verona I wrote her name
Just four years later we set our scene
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
Now, the passage of our death marked love
Scored by a sombre beat never spoken of
The continuance of our fruitless rage,
Is now the weary traffic of our stage;
I beg you then, with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to end.