the Dutchesse of Malfy.
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.
How
