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To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.
1 Mu. Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.
Nurse. Honest, good fellows, ah, put up, put up ; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.
[Exit Nurse. 1 Mu. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Enter PETER. Peter. Musicians, O, musicians, 'heart's ease, heart's ease,' 0, an you will have me live, play • heart's ease.'
1 Mu. Why 'heart's ease ?'
Peter. O musicians, because my heart itself plays, • My heart is full of woe.' 0, play me some merry dump 1 to comfort me.
2 Mu. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now, Peter. You will not then ? Mu. No. Peter. I will then give it you soundly. 1 Mu. What will you give us ?
Peter. No money, on my faith ; but the gleek : 2 I will give you the minstrel.
1 Dumps were heavy, mournful tunes, adapted for elegies.
? A pun is here intended between gleek,' scorn; and gleekman,' which signified a minstrel.
1 Mu. Then will I give you the serving-creature.
Peter. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I'll re you; I 'll fa you. Do you note me?
1 Mu. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.
2 Mu. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
Peter. Then have at you with my wit: I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger.—Answer me like men.
When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress ; Then Music, with her silver sound,'Why, 'silver sound ?' why, “Music, with her silver sound ?'—What say you, Simon Catling?
1 Mu. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Peter. Pretty!—What say you, Hugh Rebeck ?
2 Mu. I say "silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver.
Peter. Pretty too !-What say you, James Sound. post?
3 Mu. Faith, I know not what to say.
Peter. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer : I will say for you. It is— Music, with her silver sound,' because such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding : • Then Music, with her silver sound, With speedy help doth lend redress.'
1 Mu. What a pestilent knave is this same !
2 Mu. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here ; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.
Mantua. A street.
Ro. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,
News from Verona !-How now, Balthasar ?
1 i. e. the god of love.