Shakespeare's Birthday 2023

Mr. Bump at Sea Mills

How can my Muſe want ſubiect to inuent,

While thou doſt breath that poor'ſt into my verſe,

Thine owne ſweet argument, to excellent,

For euery vulgar paper to rehearſe:

Oh giue thy ſelfe the thankes if ought in me,

Worthy peruſal ſtand againſt thy ſight,

For who's ſo dumbe that cannot write to thee,

When thou thy ſelfe doſt giue inuention light?

Be thou the tenth Muſe, ten times more in worth

Then thoſe old nine which rimers inuocate,

And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

Eternal numbers to out-liue long date.

   If my ſlight Muſe doe pleaſe theſe curious daies,

   The paine be mine, but thine ſhal be the praiſe.

Sonnet 38, transcribed from the 1609 Quarto, the first published edition of the Sonnets [1]

Very meta, Will, and back atcha: happy 459th birthday! You'd never believe quite how vulgar the papers have become, though, if I may twist your words a little... Or perhaps you would. You were never one to pass over any knob gag that, um, came to hand, were you?  And there's little doubt that these curious days have been getting curiouser and curiouser. But, as I'm sure you knew, the praise for your efforts is all yours, despite your slightly annoying self-deprecation and the efforts of those ridiculous anti-Stratfordians. After all, we can't even agree, now, for whom you were writing these sonnets, although we're a lot more comfortable with their, ah, queerness.

a favourite cartoon © the inimitable Stephen Collins

1. Here's a modern-day edited version for the typographically-challenged:

How can my muse want subject to invent

While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

O, give thy self the thanks, if aught in me

Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;

For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,

When thou thy self dost give invention light?

Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth

Than those old nine which rhymers invocate,

And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

   If my slight muse do please these curious days,

   The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.