but all ye lounge is but a stage
the curtains part like ye first ice age
ye caveman commeth  ye minstrel strummeth as he fate he turn his fadeth page
but ye candlelight splay on ye playeth today  ye grinning ghosties of ye mind
"to pork or not to pork" "that is ye question" and wether tis nobbiest in ye rind
but who pull ye coeker who piggy ye porker who,s sizzle ye rizzle come barbecue
fruititious fruit pies in ye scrumptiosness skies .... come hear ye taming of ye shrew
but stylock some mock was he .... quick to ye clock ... or did he on ye embers bask
and clittopatia did fall prey ... to ye fateful lure of ye poisiness asp
but oberon has since been gone ... prospero cast ye lingering spell
did ye spider catch ye fly .... some say that only time will tell
cause caliban be just ye man .... alonso hath a certain flar
"the sheeted dead shall squeal and gibber" ... but sitteth there in comfy chair
and yonder done ye corridor .... tis "fairystaff" ye new come guest
ye maybe cruel of winter gruel .... ye truth that often said in jest
and then ye "merchant of no boner" sayeth so with wicked grin
  ye bluebottle  fly who knoweth why ... get thee thy contents of thee bin
but fists to be raised like phallus  praised .... ye  fourty five at  regale races
or  "much a mince about bottom" prey and just ye handbags at ten paces
but talk of king lear who doth lady fear lurketh there so in ye shadow
does ruleth ye ruth and protecteth the truth ... so say ye ghost of ye headless gallow
a man upon whom not fair maidens swoon upon in swoonest dreams
but get thy bunny of greedeth gunny so get ye so  "midsummer nights scheme,s"
  a furtive potion of but just  commotion ye thee blubbers of disconsolation
but faint heart ne,er won fair maidens rose horned garden of delectation
but sayeth fate like ye half fill plate bunneth bunny curseth all cusss
   ye fateful brew as miranda flew and puck did circle rings uranus
and who,s that witchen yonder kitchen .... an ill wind never blew so blue
pester ye jester of festering fester ... but get of thee thy vegetable stew
  but "my ringdom for a horse " . . .  from ye corridors of longness
and phaedra regales like ye black pillowed sails ...
 should ye tread down ye dark paths of wrongness
but hear ye requeath of ye lady macbeth .... exiteth kitchen door
out out damn spoth does she loseth the plot ... theses days ye can,t be sure
but "once more unto the pork dear friends"
  we looketh from one and from one to another
cause all ye lounge is but a stage
 and tis time now for "nobbeth with mother"