WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

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FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages Golden lads and girl^ all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;

Care no more to clothe and eat ; To thee the reed is as the oak:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Fear not slander, censure rash ; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:

All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exerciser harm thee ! Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! Nothing ill come near thee ! Quiet consummation have ; And renowned be thy grave !

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