To Shakespeare (III)

Shelter and succour such as common men
  Afford the weaker partners of their fate,
  Have I derived from thee—from thee, most great
  And powerful genius! whose sublime control,
  Still from thy grave governs each human soul,
  That reads the wondrous records of thy pen.
  From sordid sorrows thou hast set me free,
  And turned from want's grim ways my tottering feet,
  And to sad empty hours, given royally,
  A labour, than all leisure far more sweet:
  The daily bread, for which we humbly pray,
  Thou gavest me as if I were thy child,
  And still with converse noble, wise, and mild,
  Charmed from despair my sinking soul away;
  Shall I not bless the need, to which was given
  Of all the angels in the host of heaven,
  Thee, for my guardian, spirit strong and bland!
  Lord of the speech of my dear native land!