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.
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.
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