Poets and critics through the centuries

Have idolized you:  Now you are divine.

No man is worthy to approach your shrine

Except with eyes abashed and bended knees

(And multitudes of metaphors like these).

What place is there for common cents like mine

Amid their offerings of gold so fine

With incense and wine long upon the lees?

It’s praise enough, I think, for any man

To be much like his Maker.  Only you

So understood the passion and the plan

Of the scenes you acted, that men wonder who

You really were, failing to comprehend

Your fellow-actors’ picture of their friend.