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 hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee and come to dust.

SHAKSPERE'S SONGS AND SONNETS.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly-sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not

The hand that writ it, for I love you so,

That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Oh, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ;
But let your love even with my life decay :

Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

FINIS.

EDMUND EVANS, ENGRAVER AND PRINTER, RAQUET COURT, FLEET ST.