Ode on the Birthday of Mr. William Shakespeare

What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones, The labor of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallowed relic should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid?

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need’st thou such a costly tomb for fame?

Mighty Spirit, won’t thou, in ballads rise, And with thy love, enchant the watchful skies?

Be all the flowers that bloom in the temperate day, Adorned with love, and crowned in many a way, Let night hear the nightingale sing softly, clear, For Shakespeare’s worth brings nature’s luxury near!

• Robert Herrick