Part 36 (1/2)

Fran. I met even now with the most piteous sight.

Flam. Thou meet'st another here, a pitiful Degraded courtier.

Fran. Your reverend mother Is grown a very old woman in two hours.

I found them winding of Marcello's corse; And there is such a solemn melody, 'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies; Such as old granddames, watching by the dead, Were wont t' outwear the nights with that, believe me, I had no eyes to guide me forth the room, They were so o'ercharg'd with water.

Flam. I will see them.

Fran. 'Twere much uncharity in you; for your sight Will add unto their tears.

Flam. I will see them: They are behind the traverse; I 'll discover Their superst.i.tions howling.

[He draws the traverse. Cornelia, the Moor, and three other Ladies discovered winding Marcello's corse. A song.

Corn. This rosemary is wither'd; pray, get fresh.

I would have these herbs grow upon his grave, When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays, I 'll tie a garland here about his head; I have kept this twenty year, and every day Hallow'd it with my prayers; I did not think He should have wore it.

Zan. Look you, who are yonder?

Corn. Oh, reach me the flowers!

Zan. Her ladys.h.i.+p 's foolish.

Woman. Alas, her grief Hath turn'd her child again!

Corn. You 're very welcome: [To Flamineo.

There 's rosemary for you, and rue for you, Heart's-ease for you; I pray make much of it, I have left more for myself.

Fran. Lady, who 's this?

Corn. You are, I take it, the grave-maker.

Flam. So.

Zan. 'Tis Flamineo.

Corn. Will you make me such a fool? here 's a white hand: Can blood so soon be washed out? let me see; When screech-owls croak upon the chimney-tops, And the strange cricket i' th' oven sings and hops, When yellow spots do on your hands appear, Be certain then you of a corse shall hear.

Out upon 't, how 'tis speckled! h' 'as handled a toad sure.

Cowslip water is good for the memory: Pray, buy me three ounces of 't.

Flam. I would I were from hence.

Corn. Do you hear, sir?

I 'll give you a saying which my grandmother Was wont, when she heard the bell toll, to sing o'er Unto her lute.