By something form’d, I nothing am,
Yet everything that you can name;
In no place have I ever been,
Yet everywhere I may be seen;
In all things false, yet always true,
I’m still the same—­but ever new. 
Lifeless, life’s perfect form I wear,
Can show a nose, eye, tongue, or ear,
Yet neither smell, see, taste, or hear. 
All shapes and features I can boast,
No flesh, no bones, no blood—­no ghost: 
All colours, without paint, put on,
And change like the cameleon. 
Swiftly I come, and enter there,
Where not a chink lets in the air;
Like thought, I’m in a moment gone,
Nor can I ever be alone: 
All things on earth I imitate
Faster than nature can create;
Sometimes imperial robes I wear,
Anon in beggar’s rags appear;
A giant now, and straight an elf,
I’m every one, but ne’er myself;
Ne’er sad I mourn, ne’er glad rejoice,
I move my lips, but want a voice;
I ne’er was born, nor e’er can die,
Then, pr’ythee, tell me what am I?

Most things by me do rise and fall,
And, as I please, they’re great and small;
Invading foes without resistance,
With ease I make to keep their distance: 
Again, as I’m disposed, the foe
Will come, though not a foot they go. 
Both mountains, woods, and hills, and rocks
And gamesome goats, and fleecy flocks,
And lowing herds, and piping swains,
Come dancing to me o’er the plains. 
The greatest whale that swims the sea
Does instantly my power obey. 
In vain from me the sailor flies,
The quickest ship I can surprise,
And turn it as I have a mind,
And move it against tide and wind. 
Nay, bring me here the tallest man,
I’ll squeeze him to a little span;
Or bring a tender child, and pliant,
You’ll see me stretch him to a giant: 
Nor shall they in the least complain,
Because my magic gives no pain.

ON TIME

Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast,
Till I eat the world at last.

ON THE GALLOWS

There is a gate, we know full well,
That stands ’twixt Heaven, and Earth, and Hell,
Where many for a passage venture,
Yet very few are fond to enter: 
Although ’tis open night and day,
They for that reason shun this way: 
Both dukes and lords abhor its wood,
They can’t come near it for their blood. 
What other way they take to go,
Another time I’ll let you know. 
Yet commoners with greatest ease
Can find an entrance when they please. 
The poorest hither march in state
(Or they can never pass the gate)
Like Roman generals triumphant,
And then they take a turn and jump on’t,
If gravest parsons here advance,
They cannot pass before they dance;
There’s not a soul that does resort here,
But strips himself to pay the porter.