Shakespearean

A sonnet with the name of a Shakespearean character hidden in each line

Poor Portia, such glum arias she sings, Sad as a blue tit ushering forth a song As doleful as the bell’s knell sorrow rings Whilst I with ample fervour for her long, Yet must in dark mould yearn to win her heart When neither gods nor folk my suffering see Or grant me kind rapport ere I depart From one who might love llamas more than me! I, keen as mustard, see delight in one With whom I’d prosper — offer her my hand, Rich ardour on her lavish and, when done, Elope to Rome or any far off land, And there, with subtle wisdom, quell despair And fondly stroke the shy locks of her hair.