is not wash’d off yet. If ere thou ask it me again. I have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel. Thou knowest the mask of night Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back. Come gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night, Give me some aqua vitae. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me die with thee. Farewell. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V.