Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Various - Страница 74

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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 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.

W. Shakespeare