A churchyard.
Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are asked this question next, say “a grave-maker:” the houses that he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a stoup of liquor. Exit Second Clown . He digs and sings.
In youth, when I did love, did love, Methought it was very sweet, To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, O, methought, there was nothing meet.
Sings.
But age, with his stealing steps, Hath claw’d me in his clutch, And hath shipped me intil the land, As if I had never been such.