Flam. I will see them:
They are behind the traverse; I’ll discover
Their superstitious howling.
[Draws the curtain. Cornelia, Zanche, and three other
Ladies discovered winding Marcello’s corse. A song.
Cor. This rosemary is wither’d; pray, get fresh;
I would have these herbs grow up in his grave
When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays;
I’ll tie a garland here about his head;
’T will keep my boy from lightning. This sheet
I have kept this twenty year, and every day