Once, after long-drawn revel at The Mermaid, <br />He to the overbearing Boanerges <br />Jonson, uttered (if half of it were liquor, <br />Blessed be the vintage!) <br /> <br />Saying how, at an alehouse under Cotswold, <br />He had made sure of his very Cleopatra, <br />Drunk with enormous, salvation-con temning <br />Love for a tinker. <br /> <br />How, while he hid from Sir Thomas's keepers, <br />Crouched in a ditch and drenched by the midnight <br />Dews, he had listened to gipsy Juliet <br />Rail at the dawning. <br /> <br />How at Bankside, a boy drowning kittens <br />Winced at the business; whereupon his sister-- <br />Lady Macbeth aged seven--thrust 'em under, <br />Sombrely scornful. <br /> <br />How on a Sabbath, hushed and compassionate-- <br />She being known since her birth to the townsfolk-- <br />Stratford dredged and delivered from Avon <br />Dripping Ophelia <br /> <br />So, with a thin third finger marrying <br />Drop to wine-drop domed on the table, <br />Shakespeare opened his heart till the sunrise-- <br />Entered to hear him. <br /> <br />London wakened and he, imperturbable, <br />Passed from waking to hurry after shadows . . . <br />Busied upon shows of no earthly importance? <br />Yes, but he knew it!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-craftsman/
