Fresh to all ages: when posterity
Shall loath what’s new, thinke all is prodigy
That is not Shakespeare’s; ev’ry line, each verse,
Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy hearse.
Nor fire, nor cankering age, as Naso said,
Of his, thy wit-fraught Book, shall once invade.
Nor shall I e’er believe, or think thee dead
(Though missed), until our bankrout Stage be sped
(Impossible) with some new strain t’ out-do
Passions of Juliet, and her Romeo;