Diary
John Kerrigan: Lost Shakespeare, 6 February 1986
“... the Bard. To get the ambience right, I fill a pewter mug with ale. A taper winks in the timbered hall. Even so, the poem seems very bad. Intoned, it sounds banal; sung, it simply upsets the cat. Something goes wrong in stanza two. Either the piece runs into sand, or the illusion slips, but I can never reach Suspicious doubt, O keep out, For thou art my ... ”