Being the fingers of God's certainty,
Yet can but make their sign into the air;
But could they find their tongues they'd show it all;
But what am I to say that am but one,
When they are millions and they will not speak—
[Children have run out.
But they are gone; what made them run away?
[The Fool comes in with a dandelion.
Look at me, tell me if my face is changed,
Is there a notch of the fiend's nail upon it