Scene
III
A fortification.
Enter Antonio and Delio. Echo from the Duchess’s grave.
Delio
Yond’s the cardinal’s window. This fortification
Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey;
And to yond side o’ th’ river lies a wall,
Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion
Gives the best echo that you ever heard,
So hollow and so dismal, and withal
So plain in the distinction of our words,
That many have suppos’d it is a spirit
That answers.
Antonio
I do love these ancient ruins.
We never tread upon them but we set
Our foot upon some reverend history;
And, questionless, here in this open court,
Which now lies naked to the injuries
Of stormy weather, some men lie interr’d
Lov’d the church so well, and gave so largely to’t,
They thought it should have canopied their bones
Till doomsday. But all things have their end;
Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men,
Must have like death that we have.
Echo
Like death that we have.
Delio
Now the echo hath caught you.
Antonio
It groan’d methought, and gave
A very deadly accent.
Echo
Deadly accent.
Delio
I told you ’twas a pretty one. You may make it
A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,
Or a thing of sorrow.
Echo
A thing of sorrow.
Antonio
Ay, sure, that suits it best.
Echo
That suits it best.
Antonio
’Tis very like my wife’s voice.
Echo
Ay, wife’s voice.
Delio
Come, let us walk further from ’t.
I would not have you go to the cardinal’s tonight:
Do not.
Echo
Do not.
Delio
Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow
Than time. Take time for’t; be mindful of thy safety.
Echo
Be mindful of thy safety.
Antonio
Necessity compels me.
Make scrutiny through the passages
Of your own life, you’ll find it impossible
To fly your fate.
Echo
O, fly your fate!
Delio
Hark! the dead stones seem to have pity on you,
And give you good counsel.
Antonio
Echo, I will not talk with thee,
For thou art a dead thing.
Echo
Thou art a dead thing.
Antonio
My duchess is asleep now,
And her little ones, I hope sweetly. O heaven,
Shall I never see her more?
Echo
Never see her more.
Antonio
I mark’d not one repetition of the echo
But that; and on the sudden a clear light
Presented me a face folded in sorrow.
Delio
Your fancy merely.
Antonio
Come, I’ll be out of this ague,
For to live thus is not indeed to live;
It is a mockery and abuse of life.
I will not henceforth save myself by halves;
Lose all, or nothing.
Delio
Your own virtue save you!
I’ll fetch your eldest son, and second you.
It may be that the sight of his own blood
Spread in so sweet a figure may beget
The more compassion. However, fare you well.
Though in our miseries Fortune have a part,
Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none.
Contempt of pain, that we may call our own.
Exeunt.