those dancing days are gone

come

let me sing into your ear

those dancing days are gone

all the 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

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 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