Shakespeare's Soul

Oh mine own, Shakespeare! the master of words, None hast born yet to match upon thy thoughts. Mine own words art weakly weaved even to put thy name, Thou art a legend of an era who did hold a perpetual fame. Thou hast built a castle in the heart of numerous bards, Demonstrat'd the intellectual configuration of thy arts. So even if't be true daylight vanishes and blinds mine own eye, For such most wondrous masterpieces, I vouch to forever die.