Marius. And will the heavens be never well appeased?
Echo. Appeased.
Marius. What mean have they left me to cure my smart?
Echo. Art.
Marius. Nought better fits old Marius’ mind then war.
Echo. Then, war!
Marius. Then full of hope, say, Echo, shall I go?
Echo. Go!
Marius. Is any better fortune then at hand?
Echo. At hand.