Who love you better than my eyes.—But why
Do you not call the bride?
Æsch. ’Tis what I long for:
But wait the music and the singers.
Dem. Pshaw!
Will you for once be rul’d by an old fellow?
Æsch. Well?
Dem. Ne’er mind singers, company, lights, music;
But tell them to throw down the garden-wall,
As soon as possible. Convey the bride