We do not know when he was really born,
Only that he was christened on this day
Four hundred some odd years ago. Adorn
His name with laureate leaves, myrtle and bay,
And crown him highest among poets high.
Sing loud hosannahs and declaim him great,
Trumpet his grandest virtues to the sky,
With reference to this, his natal date
As we believe it. But do not forget
We think he may have died today as well;
And though we say it with profound regret
The day is therefore both joyous and fell.
So leave to think the day is only clear:
Sing by the font, but also mourn the bier.
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