It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes

Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,

The bird of dawning singeth all night long:

And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;

The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 1.

What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,—

The labour of an age in piled stones?

Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid

Under a star-y-pointing pyramid?

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,

What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?

John Milton (1608-1674): Epitaph on Shakespeare.