Tempest

Prospero drowned his book and broke his staff
a fond farewell to writing comedy
'though Trinculo had charms to make one laugh
the Bard was mulling his mortality
he'd made the masses weep and beg for more
and had them baying for a tyrant's blood
but even when they're rolling on the floor
he feared the next one staged might be a dud
a play's all transience; the curtains fall
tomorrow only the reviews persist
the best of jugglers sometimes drops a ball
the best of archers has been known to miss
his mark's indelible upon the stage
let this--not "Timon" stand as his last page