Fear no more the heat o' the sun -- William Shakespeare

(Poem #477) Fear no more the heat o' the sun 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 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 renownéd be thy grave! -- William Shakespeare

from Cymbeline, Act IV, Scene 2.
lines spoken by Guiderius and Arviragus [1].

Over two months since we visited the Bard - this just will not do.

... that said, there's not a whole lot I can profitably write about old Will
that hasn't already been written... [2].

I guess what I like about today's poem - actually, it's an extract from one of
the plays, but (like many such extracts) it forms a perfectly good poem in its
own right - is the assuredness of the verse. The opening couplet:
        "Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
         Nor the furious winter's rages;"
is wonderful in its simplicity and strength (and deserving of its place in every
dictionary of Shakespearean quotations ever compiled). The rest of the poem is
equally dignified and stately, yet never fails to move me emotionally.

The theme (like that of much of Shakespeare's work) is Time and Death - 'Fear No
More' is, after all, a funeral oration of sorts - yet the impression I get is
not one of mourning, nor even sadness; rather, the poem has an air of calm
repose and dignity (the word 'elegiac' springs to mind, except that it's not an
elegy <grin>). Death is not the thief of time, he is, instead, the purveyor of
eternal rest and quietude [3].

thomas.

PS. I also like the shift in metre in the final stanza - it serves to clearly
demarcate the coda, and lend it an air of finality. Again, a wonderful balance
of form, content and mood.

[1] gotta love those names!
[2] I would strongly recommend Harold Bloom's wonderful "Shakespeare: The
Invention of the Human" and A. C. Bradley's "Shakespearean Tragedy". Oh, and
previous instances of the Minstrels - check out
[broken link] http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/index_poet
[3] Keep in mind that Cymbeline was one of the last of Shakespeare's plays; it
was written (as far as we know) in 1609, just seven years before his demise.
(Also, see the Moreover section below).

[Links]

The text of Lamb's Cymbeline is here:
[broken link] http://daphne.palomar.edu/shakespeare/lambtales/LTCYM.HTM

[Moreover]

 "... 1608 also marks a change in tone in Shakespeare's work from the dark mood
of the tragedies to one of light, magic, music, reconciliation and romance.
Beginning with Pericles, Prince of Tyre (probably written 1607-8 -- the text of
which is certainly mangled, accounting for its not being played frequently), and
moving through Cymbeline, The Winter's Tale and finally in The Tempest
Shakespeare conducted a grand experiment in form and poetry that took advantage
of these elements, shaping them into an enduring art that has at its heart
acceptance and the beneficence of providence. "

        -- [broken link] http://daphne.palomar.edu/shakespeare/timeline/timeline.htm