Sonnet

Who’s there? Who is there? Out in front of me,

Are ye friend or enemy? Shrouds of dark

Cloaks, wigs, smiles, paint, perfume; I cannot see

The air that you breathe, nor your featured mark.

Thy mind’s eye has no power in this realm

And serves only to show false images

In thy mortal sleep. Not that this dim helm

Has endowed me with Rosetta’s languages.

Ash to ash, dust to dust; or are ye dust,

Thy mask of crimson hiding thou presence,

Concealing the vessel of ash that once

You dispatch me will be my remembrance?

Sleep well, King Hamlet, thy reaper so close;

As like Thebes, thou gallows was thou rose.