And his own natural impulse, urged him to it.
They have been wandering half-a-dozen years.
FIRST MUSICIAN.
And yet old men are jealous.
FERGUS [coming from door].
Sing the more sweetly
Because, though age is arid as a bone,
This man has flowered. I’ve need of music, too;
If this gray head would suffer no reproach,
I’d dance and sing—and dance till the hour ran out,