Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/93

 Ant. 'Tis very like my wives voyce.

Eccho. I, wifes-voyce.

Del. Come: let's us walk farther from't. I Would not have you go toth' Cardinalls to night: Doe not.

Eccho. Doe not.

Del. Wisdome doth not more moderate, wasting Sorrow Then time: take time for't: be mindfull of thy safety.

Eccho. Be mindfull of the safety.

Ant. Necessitie compells me: Make scruteny throughout the passes Of your owne life; you'll find it impossible To flye your fate.

O flye your fate.

Del. Harke: the dead stones seeme to have pitty on you And give you good counsell.

Ant. Eccho, I will not talk with thee; For thou art a dead Thing.

Eccho. Thou art a dead Thing.

Ant. My Dutchess is asleepe now, And her litle-Ones, I hope sweetly: oh Heaven Shall I never see her more?

Eccho. Never see her more:

Ant. I mark'd not one repetition of the Eccho But that; and on the sudden, a cleare light Presented me a face folded in sorrow.

Del. Your fancy; meerely.

Ant. 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 my selfe by halves, Loose all, or nothing.

Del. Your owne vertue save you: I'll fetch your eldest sonne; and second you: It may be that the sight of his owne blood Spred in so sweet a figure, may beget The more compassion.