Sonnet 8

Thy hands are fixed and stiff inside my breast
Plausible and pleasant as folks plaudit
But who shall take the fame and fortunes nest
Thy puppeteer, or I who can not audit?

          Surely thou know that I receive air not
          And when thy speaketh, I only pretend
          But without me thy jokes and riddles rot
          Riddle me this, should thee or I amend?

Laughter is light when thou appears alone
Upon the stage as if without a cause
But when thy hand places me on thy throne
I am embraced and greeted with applause

         Thus I the instrument apart from thee
          And as thee entertains, I speaketh free

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