Will, we need to talk: this is all your grief Your friend and your lover aren’t grieving at all I’ve seen them swanning around The Swan in Southwark Catching Pembroke’s Men in The Isle of Dogs
They saw your Julius Caesar here at the Globe But were mostly canoodling high up in the back row I cannot imagine they were admiring your wonderful verse Grieving over the deaths of Romans, or thinking of you
Give over your hoping, your moping, your sighing, your wishing - The Avon’s down the road; we should go fishing