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Those Dancing Days are Gone
| Come, let me sing into your ear; | | Those dancing days are gone, | | All that silk and satin gear; | | Crouch upon
a stone, | | Wrapping that foul body up | | In as foul a rag: | | I carry the sun in a golden cup, | | The moon in a
silver bag. | | | | | | Curse as you may I sing it through; | | What matter if the knave | | That the most could pleasure
you, | | The children that he gave, | | Are somewhere sleeping like a top | | Under a marble flag? | | I carry the sun
in a golden cup, | | The moon in a silver bag. | | | | | | I thought it out this very day, | | Noon upon the clock, | | A man
may put pretence away | | Who leans upon a stick, | | May sing, and sing until he drop, | | Whether to maid or
hag: | | I carry the sun in a golden cup, | | The moon in a silver bag. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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