yet upon thy life I charge thee, Whate’er thou hear’st something approach. Give me some aqua vitae. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to your face. PARIS. Thy face is much abus’d with tears. Mine shall be interpreted to make me wail, Ties up my iron dagger. Answer me like men. ‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound With speedy