Last week, King Charles invoked a line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet in a moving message to his mother: “May ‘flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest’.” This weekend, on the eve of the Queen’s funeral on Monday, Shakespeare’s elegy, from his late play Cymbeline, deals with the mortality of all, from golden lads and girls to chimney-sweepers, with incomparable wisdom and humanity.

LESLEY DUNCAN

 

FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT O’ TH’ SUN

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 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 th’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 exorcisor harm thee,

Nor no witchcraft charm thee.

Ghost unlaid forbear thee.

Nothing ill come near thee.

Quiet consummation have,

And renowned by thy grave.