Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o’ th’ great; Thou art past the tyyrant’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 North’all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou has finished joy and moan.
All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee and come to dust.
No exorciser 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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