Really, he doesn’t look a day over 380…

O Bard immortal by the Avon born,

in humble cottage to ambitious dad:

I give you greetings on your birthday morn

with tidings: The world so wide still is glad

that the work of your life and pen yet lives.

The curtain never comes down in this globe

but there is applause; each hearer forgives

some tin-tongued actor in a worn-out robe,

when your Hero emerges from the grave

or Hamlet drinks down the pearl of great price,

or Hotspur leaps to war, foolish and brave,

or Antipholus’ friends see him twice.

The faeries in their revels bless us still,

and your fame? Endures forever, sweet Will.

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