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Thoroughly Modern Willie

Extract from the diary of a Shakespearian character who has woken up to find him or herself transported to the present day


June the twenty-second – I awake

Into what seemeth like a dream: no Quince,

No Snout nor Snug nor Flute nor Starveling,

But unfamiliar faces and a wench,

As sour as Titania is sweet,

Who bid’st me say what sort of job I seek

And where my talents lie. ‘Forsooth!’ quoth I,

‘No labour do I seek. I am by trade

A worthy weaver and a thespian

Admired by dukes and commoners alike.’

‘Next please!’ says she, dismissing me withal

As though I were an ass! And thus dismissed

I wander streets as weird as might be seen

In some midwinter’s nightmare, past belief.

O Peter Quince! I trow thou could’st not write

A ballad half so mad as this my plight.

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