to whom who have deja vued our time
we know ye not by name, but by verse
which sounds over age, immortal rhyme
sweet despite thousand times rehearse
and whether time have made thee old
or age have thy divine limbs wrinkled
thou shalt live not in stories we told
but in thy words which thee did humbled
like poison thy verse sting the heart
with joy, bless, wisdom, agony and love
and like wizard's tricks, very smart
who from paper produced a lovely dove
time shall never have something to appear
that men might call it like Shakespeare
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