This was so good of you, so like your grace,
Ye on whose brows the brand of Rheims is graven,
To spare the poet of our common race
And find forgiveness for the Bard of Avon;
And all the little lore he feebly guessed,
Phantasy, rhetoric, and trope and sermon,
To clasp politely to your mailéd breast,
Refine, transmute and render wholly German.
Seeing in Henry V. a Prussian King,
Tracing in Hamlet a more moody Kaiser,