Shakespeare Soliloquizing at Home

To be or not to be in London town;            
plagued by armed bandits in dog-turd strewn streets,            
arse racked bloody on lame nag's rough ride down,            
and greets by sicked, pox-pricked-bawd's beggars bleats?            
             
Foul beer, stinking bacon and beds be damp            
where Taverners are filthy cheating rogues,            
the roiling smog brings ague and hand cramps,            
chance of hen's teeth, not whole clay-pipes to smoke...            
             
But friendings there, Burbage and Marlowe,            
if alive and our Globe, if not burnt ash,          
I've new arch-villains while my light still glows          
to engage my groundlings with verve and dash...            
             
This fire in my belly be fierce stuff            
I shall hie away, I've tarried enough!          [ _exit house left_ ]            
             
A seamless integration    
with the bard of Avon's      
unwitting collaboration?