Until Doom’s day, for hardly will (a) fift
Betwixt this day and that by fate be slain,
For whom the curtains shall be drawn again.
For if precedency in death do bar
A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre,
In this uncarved marble of thy own,
Sleep, brave Tragedian, Shakespeare, sleep alone;
Thy unmolested rest, unshared cave,
Possess as lord, not tenant, to the grave,
That unto others it may counted be