Every empty theater's ghosts
believe that they
Were once the Lord Chamberlain's Men.
On a ruined stage at midnight try whispering
"Hoi! Burbage; art deaf? -- that was your cue!"
Some burly shade is sure to conjure himself up
Out of rust and cobwebs,out of echoes,
The memory of a prop sword at his hip.
Were once the Lord Chamberlain's Men.
On a ruined stage at midnight try whispering
"Hoi! Burbage; art deaf? -- that was your cue!"
Some burly shade is sure to conjure himself up
Out of rust and cobwebs,out of echoes,
The memory of a prop sword at his hip.
