For the Globe Theatre
O welcome gentles all unto our show
And may you pass with us a happy time
But pardon, if I say what you must know,
And that is - stop your watches, if they chime.
Your neighbours' pleasure will be mixed with moan
If you, afeared to miss the wide world's toil,
Do leave alive your curs�d mobile phone
Which, warbling, will set our blood to boil.
Those little computators too, which run your lives
And sing of your appointments as birds cheep
They nag like stolid husbands or fishwives
So throw the damn things in some vasty deep.
Cameras, flashing brightly - be there none
For you will fright us with a thousand suns.
Now, all that said, it's merely left to say.
Be happy, sit, or stand, enjoy our play.
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