"Behold this fair goblet, 'twas carved from the tree,
Which, O my sweet Shakspeare, was planted by thee;
As a relic I kiss it, and bow at the shrine,
What comes from thy hand must be ever divine!
All shall yield to the Mulberry tree,
Bend to thee,
Blest Mulberry;
Matchless was he
Who planted thee,
And thou like him immortal be!"