TO THEE THE REED IS AS THE OAK...

For the record, here are the correct words [see my grumbles below about Kneehigh's text tampering] of "Fear no more the heat o' the sun" ,one of WS' most beautiful poems. Incidentally, the downloaded text contains a wonderful error which I have kept - there's a bottle of champagne for the first RSC person to identify it. email me at cb@bt.com.


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 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!