Robert Greene

 
Robert Greene is dying in Cheapside,
in a room his favourite whore picked clean.
He has lived to see himself eclipsed
by a mild upstart, a base Shakescene,

a bright sun risen in the north
and come tumultuously to town.
In a fevered stew, refusing broth,
he wallows in his lost renown.

The dunning landlord is sent away.
A greater creditor is here
to present his account on the due day,
and his paperwork is in order.

The threadbare friends come trooping in.
One quotes Metamorphoses,
one is working on this line:
"Adieu, farewell earth's bliss ..."

David Callin


If you have any thoughts about this poem,  David Callin would be pleased to hear them