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.
Flam. Do, an you will, do.