BOSOLA. You shall find me ready. Exit CARDINAL. O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needful To thy estate as pity, yet I find Nothing so dangerous! I must look to my footing: In such slippery ice-pavements men had need To be frost-nail'd well, they may break their necks else; The precedent 's here afore me. How this man Bears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, 'tis well; Security some men call the suburbs of hell, Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio, I 'll seek thee out; and all my care shall be To put thee into safety from the reach Of these most cruel biters that have got Some of thy blood already. It may be, I 'll join with thee in a most just revenge. The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes With the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchess Haunts me: there, there!--'Tis nothing but my melancholy. O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup, That throws men down only to raise them up! Exit. Scene III[133] [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 dooms-day. 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 to-night: 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.