Let’s Talk of Graves, of Worms, and Epitaphs (by William Shakespeare)

 

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposèd bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Boling-

broke’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our

bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings—
How some have been deposed, some slain in

war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have de-

posed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleep-

ing killed,
All murdered. For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic

sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with

looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell,

king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and

blood
With solemn reverence. Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a king?

The poem with the stressed

syllables underlined:

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposèd bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Boling-

broke’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our

bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings—
How some have been deposed, some slain in

war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have de-

posed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleep-

ing killed,
All murdered. For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic

sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with

looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell,

king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and

blood
With solemn reverence. Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a king?

Comment:

I long suspected that there was a regular

beat in this speech of all Shakespeare's

speeches, but I could not figure it out.

The fact that the lines do not run on, but

complete a thought or phrase at the end

of each line is certainly a strong hint that

there was a rhythm involved. It seems to

require a slow seriousness when spoken

that would emphasis a beat. After

figuring out his sonnets, it has become

clearer to me what Shakespeare intended

to be the beat. You could recite this poem

as prose and would be mostly right, of

course, but as someone interested in

writing poetry it is important to know

the logic behind the rhythm and assure

oneself that it is poetry. Many people

will say that it is iambic pentameter,

but what do they mean when saying

that? That there is a beat on every

second note? That poetry is just a mat-

ter of counting syllables? Nobody goes

further in explaining that assertion,

though it is common, because they have

only a superficial interest in the me-

chanics of poetry.

I have not read this play, so I am not

going to comment too much on this

speech's meaning. It appears to be

the king is feeling defeated and dis-

illusioned with his royal life and the

briefness of life in general, and feels

his followers are propping up an il-

lusion with their continued respect

towards him and resents it, not re-

alizing that in itself is a privilege.

© C.A. MacLennan 2026