The Tragedy of
SCENA. III.
Antonio, Delio, Eccho, (from the Dutchesse Grave.)
Del.
Yond's the Cardinall's window: This fortification
Grew from the ruines of an auncient Abbey:
And to yond side o'th' river, lies a wall
(Peecə of a Cloyster) which in my opinion
Gives the best Eccho, that you ever heard;
So hollow, and so dismall, and withall
So plaine in the destinction of our words,
That many have supposde it is a Spirit
That answeres.
Ant.
I doe love these auncient ruynes:
We never tread upon them, but we set
Our foote upon some reverend History,
And questionles, here in this open Court
(Which now lies naked to the injuries
Of stormy weather) some men lye Enterr'd
Lov'd the Church so well, and gave so largely to't,
They thought it should have canopide their Bones
Till Doombes-day: But all things have their end:
Churches, and Citties (which have diseases like to men)
Must have like death that we have.
Eccho.
Like death that we have.
Del.
Now the Eccho hath caught you:
Ant.
It groan'd (me thought) and gave
A very deadly Accent?
Eccho.
Deadly Accent.
Del.
I told you 'twas a pretty one: You may make it
A Huntes-man, or a Faulconer, a Musitian,
Or a Thing of Sorrow.
Eccho.
A Thing of Sorrow.
Ant.
I sure: that suites it best.
Eccho.
That suites it best.
Ant.
