Scrib. Som sweete echo
Speake from these walls and answer to our wants,
And eather lend som comfort to our grieffs
Or send us hence dispayringe and asham'd.
[They go in.
Pal. _Oh charity where art thou fled, And nowe how longe hast thou been dead?
Answer within. Oh many many many hundred yeares
Scrib. In villadge, borrough, towne or citty
Remaines there yet no grace, no pitty?
Answ. Not in sighes, not in want, not in teares.
Pal. Cold comfort in this answer; but proceede.
Above. we see a threatninge skye.
Answ. Beelowe the winds and gusts blowe hye,
And all all to fright hence this same juell.
Scrib. The lightninges blast, the thunders cracke,
The billows menace nought save wracke.