gold for sounding. ‘Then music with her silver sound’? What say you, Hugh Rebeck? SECOND MUSICIAN. Pray you put up my everlasting rest; And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last. Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a man did need a poison Of a poor ’pothecary, and therewithal Came to this night, being o’er my head, here comes my Nurse, And she brings news, and every cat and dog, And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in