I tend to muse the so-called good and evil, And naturally to scruple Hamlet’s fate. The saucy web of deeds he strung, though great In lust’s propensity, man .. too medieval! Could it amount to more than the upheaval Of poster villains, butchered like the bait Caught in the strife of Roses? Heads he straight For some deep ring of Dante’s hell, to grieve all Lords, princes, mothers, loves: collateral cast Whose twisting strands he plucked too early, reasoning Alas, too late. Yeah, Drama calls for seasoning That settles, but whatever, what’s past is past. A bloody cheers to you, whose act most dull ’s the meditative fondling of a skull.