Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake,
Out in the trench with three hours’ watch to take,
I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then
Hear the gruff muttering voices of the men
Crouching in cabins candle-chinked with light.
Hark! There’s the big bombardment on our right
Rumbling and bumping; and the dark’s a glare
Of flickering horror in the sectors where
We raid the Boche; men waiting, stiff and chilled,
Or crawling on their bellies through the wire.
‘What? Stretcher-bearers wanted? Some one killed?’
Five minutes ago I heard a sniper fire:
Why did he do it? … Starlight overhead-
Blank stars. I’m wide awake; and some chap’s dead.
William Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure: A Retelling in Prose, by David Bruce
Ben Jonson’s The Alchemist: A Retelling in Prose
John Ford’s The Broken Heart: A Retelling
Tarlton’s Jests: A Retelling