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 superstitions 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 ladyship 's foolish.