Shakespeare Anagram: The Tempest

Not to beat a dead horse or anything…

From The Tempest:

But this rough magic
I here abjure; and, when I have requir’d
Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,—
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I’ll drown my book.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

It’s been fun. I’ve written quirky plays and we’ve had much mirth – even a kind of rebirth.

But I’m done. Rough-hewn London is hectic and grim. The trickier ajar rhythms rear up too much burden. I feel hemmed in by the dramas.

Whatever. As soon as this play is done, I am so out of here.


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