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.      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.