note in effaut flat.
Play on. [To the music.
Now, now, now! [The music plays his note, and the dead men
rise; but cannot get in order.
O Lord! O Lord! Out, out, out! did ever men spoil a good
thing so! no figure, no ear, no time, nothing. Udzookers, you
dance worse than the angels in "Harry the Eighth," or the fat
spirits in the "Tempest," egad.
1st Sold. Why, sir, 'tis impossible to do anything in time, to this tune.
Bayes. O Lord, O Lord! impossible! Why, gentlemen, if there be any faith in a person that's a Christian, I sat up two whole nights in composing this air, and apting it for the business; for, if you observe, there are two several designs in this tune: it begins swift, and ends slow. You talk of time, and time; you shall see me do it. Look you, now: here I am dead.