O! How Vain And Vile A Passion

For He That Once Is Good, Is Ever Great.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause! Delight! The Wonder Of Our Stage!

Let Those That Merely Talk And Never Think, That Live In The Wild Anarchy Of Drink

How Near To Good Is What Is Fair!

Soul Of The Age! The Applause, Delight, The Wonder Of Our Stage! My Shakespeare , Rise; I Will Not Lodge Thee By Chaucer Or Spenser , Or Bid Beaumont Lie A Little Further, To Make Thee A Room; Thou Art A Monument, Without A Tomb, And Art Alive Still, While Thy Book Doth Live, And We Have Wits To Read , And Praise To Give .