Take you no care. My spirits know their moments;
Raven or scritch-owl never fly by th’ door,
But they call in (I thank ’em), and they lose not by ‘t.
I give ’em barley soak’d in infants’ blood:
They shall have semina cum sanguine,
Their gorge cramm’d full, if they come once to our house:
We are no niggard.
[Exit Duchess.
Fire. They fare but too well when they come hither. They ate up as much t’ other night as would have made me a good conscionable pudding.
Hec. Give me some lizard’s brain: quickly, Firestone!