“Lord what fools these mortals be,” the once formidable academic shrieks gaily while he rolls and twitches on the slabs of the cold sanctuary floor. The venerable stones seem almost aware of the learned professor’s unique distress.

“Lah, what a dolt!” the pragmatic workman proclaims, totally unfazed by the odd spectacle on the floor,” I mean, it sez it right on it! Bleedin’ ‘DON’T TOUCH ’ clear as day, and this bugger thinks he knows better than four ‘undred years of accepted wisdom, tryin’ to move them bones…”

The once respected professor,flails on the floor in what appears to be the world’s first literary grande mal. A strangled,”To be, or not to be,”escapes his writhing lips.

The second workman ponders the deranged man at their feet.

“Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows…”, comes frothing forth from the form flailing frantically on the floor.

” ‘Ere,” the second workman nudges the writhing figure with his boot,” do ‘Richard the Third’.”

Somehow, the old stones seem amused