Happy Birthday, Will

Today is the presumed birthday (and certainly death day) of my dear friend Will. I don't know whether to be or not to be sad that all the world's a stage, and we're merely players, that we sleep, we dream. But I rejoice that because of him, I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, and hopefully this makes me a witty fool and not a foolish wit because I walk along this bank wisely and slow...they stumble that run fast. He taught me that.

But the oxlips and violets, like my Will, will die; in fact, all that lives must die, passing through nature into eternity. Just so are Rozenplantz and Guildenfern.

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To my dear Will, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy, we've missed you these past 399 years, but no legacy is so rich as your honesty and your art.

Thank you.