Oddrun Eikli (Oslo/Norway) - Vocals
Instrumental by Moon Dust
Oddrun Eikli: The overall mood although a depressing topic, seems to speak out in a comforting way. It is meant to soothe the anxious souls who are afraid of the unknown. Essentially the title says it all. For “Fear no more” is meant to be read in a way that that the one being spoken to would be relieved.
Shakespeare's play Cymbeline was written in 1608 or 1609, when the playwright was in his mid-forties. It is famous for having an excruciatingly complicated plot. The joke used to be that theater managers ought to offer cash prizes to anyone who, after watching the play, could explain what had happened. Cymbeline is a wonderful play, if you pay attention, and it does have this beautiful funeral song in Act IV.
The song is sung (and in most productions it actually is sung, though the music used in Shakespeare's time has been lost,
there use to be new music written for this song when the play is set up again around the world)
The song is by two boys over the dead body of another boy. They have just buried this boy; or rather, since neither the plot not the realities of stage performance allow for burial, they have laid him out and scattered flowers and herbs on him. As a matter of fact, the dead boy is neither dead, nor a boy. The "corpse" is that of Imogen, daughter of the king of Britain.
She is dressed in male attire only because she is traveling incognito. Feeling ill while a guest of these two boys and her father, she took some medicine her stepmother had given her when she set out. The stepmother is, naturally, wicked, and believes the potion to be lethal. In fact it is only a sleeping draught. Imogen eventually wakes up to find herself lying next to the body of her step-brother, which she mistakenly supposes is that of her husband … Well, this is a plot ...
lyrics
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun
by William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
(The Song from Cymbeline)
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 finish’d 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 renownèd be thy grave!
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