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.    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.      Come, let me sing into your ear;    I thought it out this very day.    Noon upon the clock,    All that silk and satin gear;    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.    I carry the sun in a golden cup.    The moon in a silver bag.      Spoken:   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.    I carry the sun in a golden cup.    The moon in a silver bag.