[Originally "Fidele" by W. Shakespeare]
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 girls 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 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!