Act 5

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.