Shakespeare (Written in her fifteenth year) Shakspeare! with all thy faults, (and few have more,) I love thee still, and still will con thee o'er. Heaven, in compassion to man's erring heart, Gave thee of virtue — then, of vice a part, Lest we, in wonder here, should bow before thee, Break God's commandment, worship, and adore thee: But admiration now, and sorrow join; His works we reverence, while we pity thine. |
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