Sol/iloq/uy
after Williams S.
O God of Battles,
the raven is hoarse!
Is this a dagger?
Send the nurse
Gallop apace, you fiery-
footed steeds! Cut him out in little stars
Entreat her eyes
to twinkle in their spheres
At the point of death
virtues will plead like angels,
let the trumpets sound the tucket
sonance & the note to mount. The winds of heaven
hang on him, things rank & gross in nature,
& visit her face too roughly
- Stuart Barnes 2012
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