My father was a great Shakespearean actor.
One could say just a little over Kean
Upon the bard, because, to raucous laughter,
His language struck my Pa like some disease.
At Tesco this affliction did its worst
As Pater wandered each accepted aisle;
His shopping list was in iambic verse
And he would read aloud (in Gielgud's style):
"Potatoes, cabbage, sprouts and joint of beef,
Baked beans, two loaves and one large box of Daz."
Then at the checkout claim in disbelief
"My clubcard's been purloined, oh woe, alas."

This tragic illness could not be explained,
I can't deny it cost me sleepless nights.
"The only cure is that I play the Dane!"
I wept to think of Pater in black tights.
To be or not to be out of his mind
Was answered for us when he trod the boards,
For ne'er has Hamlet 'ere been so benign
As pushing shopping trolleys round Elsinore.